First Blood
by stuckinbrokentime
Summary: Wayhaven has seen it's first murder in years, a serial killer has made this small, sleepy town his new haunting grounds. But something doesn't seem right about these murders, nearly as if there was much more monstrous about each body found. Detective Ryan Blake his going to need all the help he can get including a special team drafted into town from the city. AvaxOCxNat
1. Prologue

First Blood

Prologue

Moonlight slices through the beakers on the tops of the laboratory counter, a hundred shafts of light bouncing off the pristine, polished surface. Precise lines of glass tubes held in stark white cartons are piled on the centre island.

Dr. Ethan Murphy enjoys the small space of his lab, one he has worked hard on making his own. He is grateful for the comforting quiet it brings and is, at the moment, even more thankful for the size of the large counters, They fully hide his crouched, shuddering body as he haunches behind them, biting his lip to stop his shuddering breath giving away his position.

"Tut tut, Dr. Murphy, nobody likes a coward."

The taunt is followed by the smash of glass, shards of the broken beakers glancing across the linoleum floor.

Dr. Murphy squeezes his eyes shut and grips his knees closer to his chest, his teeth biting down into his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood. The squeak of the intruder's shoes on linoleum stops. The air falls silent and heavy, pressing down like a weight on Murphy's tight shoulders.

"If you don't want me to find you, Dr. Murphy, you shouldn't make yourself so tempting." The voice echoes from nowhere, a hungered growl from the darkness.

Murphy's eyes snap open as a warm drop of blood dribbles from his lip and soaks into his trousers. He wipes the blood from his lips and chokes back a sob.

But it's too late.

A hand lurches from the dark and snatches at Murphy, like claws around prey.

"Such an irresistible thing, don't you think?" the man whispers, his face shadowed but the glint in his eyes unmistakable, When his tongue laps over the smear of blood on Murphy's hand, the doctor retches and tries to crawl back, yelling as the hand grips his tighter.

The crack of bone perforates the silence.

"Dear, dear..." he tugs on Murphy's mangled hand dragging him over the slick surface of linoleum. "I don't want to break you, doctor." Murphy is yanked up onto his feet. The intruder is the same height as he is, but appears ten feet tall in the gloom.

"Shhhh..." He places a firm finger on the doctor's lips to stop the trembling cries. Then he takes Murphy's hand in both his, staring into his eyes with the intense, paralysing gaze only a predator can achieve. "Why don't you relax?"

The words reverberate like a haunting echo inside Murphy's head, bouncing from one of his skull to the other until he sways with dizziness. A swathe of calm seeps from his head down into his neck, following his spine and reaching right down to his toes, until his stumbles back from the suddenness of his muscles relaxing.

Murphy smiles at the intruder and takes a deep breath.

"Much better," the intruder whispers, before plunging his teeth into Murphy's throat.


	2. Chapter One

**First Blood**

**Chapter One: On The Case**

**. . .**

**T**he crime scene is a wriggling mass of spectators by the time I arrive, even this early in the morning. People line the small alleyway, packed so tightly I can't believe they're able to breathe, let alone fight for space to see the end of the street. Revving the engine of my battered, silver hatchback does little to gain anyone's attention, and I realise I can't park unless they move. Not wanting to be late to my very first case as Wayhaven's newly-appointed detective.

I slam down the palm of my hand on the horn my car, the sharp beep echoing from the small car with more force than expected. The buzzing crowd finally notices my presence, the bulk of them reluctantly parting.

Managing to park, I crank on the handbrake, trying to ignore the pained, crunching sound the car makes.

Out of habit, I glance into the rear-view mirror, quickly checking my appearance. I brush a hand over my ebony black hair. Figuring there is little else I can do to procrastinate, I finally force myself out of the car.

The chill air bites at my skin as soon as I step out of the warm comfort of the car. I shove my hands into the pockets of my coat, shivering at the relief it provides from the sharp cold. Buds may be clinging to the few stark tree lining the alleyway, but it is far from spring yet. It looks as though most of Wayhaven has gathered at the scene, which is more likely true than not, considering the whole town consists of less than a thousand people.

As I step up to the blue-and 0white-striped barrier, I'm greeted by Officer Len, a part-time volunteer on the scant Wayhaven police force. I wonder for a moment if his hunched posture is from the grisly nature of the crime or just his advanced age. He looks up from his pad, and I can almost hear the creaking in his bones at the motion. I wait as he speaks to greet me, his voice croaking out from his thin lips, partly hidden by a scraggly grey beard that matches the colour of his skin.

Finally, he says "Credentials please, sir."

I let out a long sigh. "Are we really going to do this, Len? You started working as a volunteer long after I joined the force."

"Sorry, but it's mayor's orders," he replies.

I'm hesitant to open my coat after just managing to get warm, but I pull one side open to yank out my badge and ID. I hand it over, Len not even glancing at it before handing it back. His eyesight may be bad, but even he cannot fail to recognise me.

"All good, Detective; step on through."

I take back my ID and dip under the barrier Len struggling to keep raised. As I move away from him, I glanced down at my new ID.

'Detective' It's the first time I've been addressed that way by one of my colleagues. It's strange to hear my new title. It belonged to old Detective Reele for so long that I'm not sure if it fits me quite yet. After all, the only training I've had way the rushed speech I received from the mayor, addressing my 'many merits' and how to show my 'willingness' to take over. The total of my detective experience probably amounts to that hour he spent lecturing me.

The promotion was rushed through in time for Reele's retirement party, leaving me spinning on how to react to the whole thing.

It was a surprise when the captain offered me the promotion, though it was less 'offered' and more 'forced.'

The captain was thrilled enough, needing someone in the station of a senior position so he could go off and play golf with the mayor whenever he wants. I let out a heavy sigh and shake my head at the thought.

My photo stares back at me from the ID pouch. I glance over my details, my name listed boldly at the top.

**RYAN MATTHEW BLAKE.**

"Finally here then, Detective Blake."

I glance up at the sound of the familiar voice, a smile already on my face. Officer Tina Poname strides towards me, my old partner grinning at me as she nears. "Not much of a surprise they're all gathered her," she says, gesturing to the crowd behind us.

I look over my shoulder at the bustle of people, sunlight glinting off the phones held ready to take whatever pictures they can. "This is probably the biggest thing that's happened for years," I reply with a shrug.

She nods in response, brushing back a few brown curls that bob in the front of her hazel eyes. "I can't help but notice none of the fancy-dancy silver spoons have bothered to show-up." Her nose wrinkles as she speaks, the freckles splattered over her rosy cheeks becoming more pronounced with the expression. "Don't suppose they care what happens to us normal folk, as long as no one touches their mansions. But anyway, how's the first day of your promotion going?"

"I kind of wish my career didn't start with a death," I admit, shoving my hands deeper into my pockets.

She purses her lips and sighs. "Yeah. Not that you should take it as an omen or anything." With a strained laugh, she dares a glance down the street at the crime scene, though it's half hidden by white-clad crime scene technicians.

The tech all busy themselves placing down yellow tags and measuring out every inch of space. There's the occasional bright flash as they take a photos.

"Excuse me!" A voice stops us before we move. "I need to know what is going on. I demand to know!" Tina grip on her belt tighten and I let out a drawn breath.

"I'm the landlord of these apartments." The man, a older gentleman in a crisp, grey suit, sweeps an arm upwards at the soaring, crumbling building besides us.

"Not exactly something to be proud of, sir." I say in reply. The man's face scrunches into a ball of red anger at my words.

Tina tries to stifle a laugh before laying a hand on my shoulder. "I'll deal with them. It's not your job to calm the riff-raff any more, Detective."

I throw her a grateful nod as she moves towards the landlord with a stern frown. Her tall, statuesque figure is hidden behind the stiff, unshapely, dark blue uniform; her pretty features contrast against the heavy belt and boots she wears.

If I'd known her before becoming such good friends as partners. I might have made a move.

I shake away the thought, turning to head towards the crime scene. It's not far before I stumble to a stop, holding up my hands to keep balance as a technician walks in front of my path. The woman clicks her tongue at me before continuing to bend down and retrieve a piece of trash, carefully storing it in a clear plastic bag and sealing the top.

I move forwards once more, my path like a dance as I make way through a maze of yellow tags and disgruntled technicians. I avoid coming up against the wall, which is slick with something I don't even want to think about.

Thankfully, I make it past the busiest part to find Doctor Turner crouched over the body. He looks up at me and frowns. "Sorry this has to be your first case, Ryan."

"Yeah..."

"It's pretty amazing to think I delivered you as a baby and now here you are, as a peer." His pride I me is dulled somewhat due to our meeting over a dead body. The gloomy light of the morning makes the grey peppering his short, black hair seem lighter, and his deep brown skin a little more aged, than usual.

A quit punctuates the air between us. Dr Turner returns to looking over the still figure at his feet.

"Can they be covered yet?" I ask with a frown. "Give them a little peace."

"I think they're far from needing peace in this life," he replies. "We better check their identity. I couldn't roll them over until the city boys were done."

I note the glare he throws towards the crime scene techs. Wayhaven is too small and quiet a place for those of people, so when a major crime happens they are sent down to aid from the big city. It's the first time this has happened in my lifetime, and the city techs and small town people obviously aren't mixing well.

Turner places his hands beneath the body before rolling it over. I wince a little at the dull thud that sounds as it topples over completely, a reaction noted by the keen, if ageing, doctor.

A woman lays spread before us, her cold, freckled skin marred by bruises.

I clench my jaw at the sight of her pale form, but I continue to stare in case it might reveal something.

"Not easy seeing your first body, is it?" Doctor Turner says quietly, his wrinkled face creased deeper in sympathy. "Well, anyway, I don't think she can be from Wayhaven. I see to pretty much everyone's health here, are I have never seen her before."

"I just can't believe there's been a murder. Here. In Wayhaven." My words come out in a confused mumble.

"I know what you mean. The last time there was violence in this town was back in my grandfather's day," he says, shaking his head. His thin-famed glasses wriggle down his nose; he pushes them back up and shrugs.

"Can you give me the time of death?" I ask.

"That's not my call to make," he replies, bristling slightly with his words. "That's your man's job back at the lab." He doesn't bother to hold back the disdain in his voice, obviously not pleased at having to give responsibility to another 'city boy.' "I'm only here to make sure the body is really dead."

"Make sure 'she' is dead," I correct him.

He frowns in confusion. "Pardon?"

"She was a person, not just a body."

Turner nods and gives a warm smile of apology. "Of course; you're right." He turns to face the techs behind him, their mask-covered faces giving them an eerie look. "You can take her away now." He then strides away down the street to where his black sports car is parked. "Good luck with it all, Ryan," he calls back with a slight wave of his hand.

"Find out anything useful from the doc?" Tina asks as she moves back to my side. We both watch for a moment as the techs move forward to throw a white cloth over the victim.

"We'll know more when Verda takes a look at her," I reply. "Are you okay getting statements from the witness?"

"Sure," she replies. "I've already started on it."

I give a nod of appreciation. "Take Douglas from the station if you need help."

"I'd have better luck getting help from a parrot than from that boy," she scoffs. She moves away, her pad flipped open in preparations.

With the crowds, the technicians, and the sheer amount of rubbish still littering the alleyway, I'm not sure how much more I can get from the crime scene. I begin to head out of the street and back towards my car.

"Officer Blake- I mean, Detective!"

My shoulders instantly hunch at the voice, and I roll my head from side to side to release the sudden tension before turning to face the source of the call.

"Bobby Marks," I say. "Why am I not surprised to find you here?"

Bobby, being the only journalist in the small town, leaps on any kind of gossip she can – whether it be true or not. This is probably the closest to real news she's ever had.

Bobby also happens to have a reputation as a giant pain in the ass. Still, as far as my relationship with her goes she happens to be my ex. I thank myself daily for getting out when I did. The woman would do anything she can to get ahead, including stealing all of my essays in college and using them as her own – while we were dating!

As if the bribes to find out extra information from some of our volunteers aren't enough, Bobby also like to wiggle her way into people's personal lives and report it to everyone in town.

The grudge I have for Bobby is one that will never shift. To think I once trusted her! Ugh... I let out a quiet groan in embarrassment of my past self.

She grins at me she approaches, her phone held out like a microphone. "What's happened here? Can you tell me-"

"No, I can't," I reply curtly, pushing the phone back as she thrusts it closer.

"Nothing at all?"

"No, nothing at all," I repeat, dipping beneath the barrier and heading for the sanctuary of my car.

"Not even for an old friend?"

I shudder at the way she says 'old friend,' once again reminded of my error in judgement in college when we dated. "Since we're such 'old friends,' you should believe me when I say no," I answer, trying to hold back the sneer from my face. I apparently don't manage to hide it very well, gauging by the triumphant smile she throws me, obviously pleased at getting under my skin once more.

"Come on now, Ryan," Bobby coos. "You wound me with that kind of talk."

"Goodbye, Bobby," I say with finality, marching the last few paces to my car. I yank open the door and sink into the silent solace of the front seat. Bobby continues to shout muffled pleas through the window, so I turn on the radio and strap on my seatbelt. I rev the engine, loud enough to be sure no one doubts my resolve to run them over if they don't move.

The sea of spectators quickly parts as I reverses out of the alley.

It'll be a while before Soloman Verda, Wayhaven's only pathologist, has anything to report, so I decide to take a quick brunch. I drive the car around to the swanky, modern side of town.

The redbrick factories that make up every foundation and building in Wayhaven have all been given a coat of fresh white or classy grey paint in this area. Tidy shop fronts line the streets, each with a scripted, scrolling shop name running across the top of the door.

The square is the centre of this modern hud, and I pull up to park beside the bakery. Getting out, I try not to break my ankle on the aesthetically pleasing, but treacherous, cobblestone street.

Thankfully, the wet, slushy blanket of leaves that covers the roads of Wayhaven have long ago been cleared away from the Square. I doubt the leaves even had a chance to touch the ground before someone was lucking them up and throwing them out.

The bakery is surprisingly empty. I stumble to a stop inside the doorway as a waft of hot air, lined with the scent of fresh bread, embraces me.

"Good morning, Ryan," Haley, the bakery owner, greets me with a grin, her ivory cheeks flushed red and a ring of white-blonde hair just visible beneath a red-and-white chequered chef's hat. "What can I get you?"

I stare at the curved display and the pastry goodies spread behind it, the fresh warmth of them steaming the glass. "I'll have a coffee, please." My gaze flickers to the pastries, their scent entricing me closer. "And one of those."

She gives a smile and turns to the counter behind her, the bitter smell of coffee beans mixing with the pastries, making my stomach rumble. After a moment, she turns back and places down the paper cup and bag on the counter. "On the house."

"Are you sure?"

She nods. "I heard you're gonna need it – what with that murder and all." She grimaces and wipes her hands on her apron.

"Yeah, guess word gets around quick."

"That shouldn't surprise you," she says, chuckling. "It's worse than when we were in school."

I nod in agreement. There's a saying in Wayhaven that if you don't know what's going on, you just have to ask the person next to you.

Insular is an understatement.

"At least I know it's you out there protecting us," she says with a genuine smile. I give a slow nod.

I had a pretty rebellious youth. That trouble came back to bite me when I was faced with the choice of going to prison... or joining the force in order to 'temper my attitude.'

I chose the ploice, and it's worked out pretty well, surprisingly. The worst crimes I've had to deal with are vandalism and graffiti. Well there was the time Mila Evans knocked her tneis ball through Jake Marshall's window, but that was all an accident.

It's probably better that someone like me is solving this murder, and not someone with a weaker stomach.

I grab up my goods, coming out of my thoughts. "Thanks for this." With a grateful nod, I leave the shop and attempt to traverse my way over the cobblestone once again.

I'm just about to sip my drink when my phone buzzes, Verda's name highlighted on the screen. With a sigh, I put down my things, start the engine, and make my way over a couple of blocks to the station.

**. . .**

"Morning, Douglas," I call as I push open the heavy glass door, pleased to be back in the familiar setting of the station. It was once a factory, but the insides have been completely refurbished into a bright, modern work area. The walls are mostly made of large windows, and the work stations are efficient but open.

The young officer, seated behind the grey, faux-marble front desk of the station, scrambles to shove his cell phone into pocket. Instead, he only manages to drop it on the floor. We both stare at the item as it spins on its back before slowing to a stop.

Douglas shifts his wide-eyed gaze to me, both of us realising work had been far from his mind while I'd been out. I thin my lips in thought, suddenly presented with how to deal with the mayor's son now that I'm in charge of the station.

I let out a long, drawn-out breath and begin moving towards the pathologist's lab. I watch his long bangs flick into his eyes a he watches me for a moment, the light blond hair almost lost against his pale skin.

"Pick up the phone, kid," I call as I pass, hearing Douglas' pleased reply, then his footsteps as he scrabbles to retrieve the object.

As I push open the doors to the staircase that leads down to the basement lab, I wonder if how I dealt with Douglas was the right move. The all-powerful Mayor Friedman doesn't like any insult to his name... so Douglas must be a real disappointment. Still, Douglas is kind enough, just young and not great at actually remembering to focus on his work.

I shake the thought away as the chill of the basement sinks into my skin. My gaze lashes over the 'no food or drinking sign' nailed to the wall just a few feet from the lab, and I grip my drink.

I keep walking past the sign, clutching my drink tighter. The warmth of it seeps into my fingers, and I'm glad I chose a warm beverage before visiting the chill lab.

The pastry crumbs don't exactly look professional though, so I brush them away quickly before moving on.

I bump the heavy door open with one hip, pacing into the clean room behind. White-tiled walls shine all around. The shimmering silver machines dotted about the edges of the room are very welcoming.

"I don't know how you down here," I say, spying Verda sitting at his metal desk to one corner, The slender, short man isn't even wearing gloves, just a suit and a simple white medical coat.

He turns and gives a grin, the expression making his dark brown eye shimmer even in the dull, electric light. "This is the first time I've really had work," he says, running a hand over his styled brunette hair that he always has highlighted, the colour complimenting his light brown skin. "Mostly I just deal with the overflow of natural deaths Doctor Turner can't manage."

He stands from his chair and moves closer, his gaze shifting to the drink in my hands. "You know you're not supposed to have that in here."

I arch a brow, my own focus moving to the steaming mug of coffee on his desk. "And neither are you."

He smiles, the expression bright and full of cheer.

I snap out of my thoughts, our attention back on the white sheet on the table. The woman's head and shoulders are the only things visible. "You haven't started the autopsy yet?"

He shakes his head. "No, but..." He purses his lips, a shadow of a goatee framing them. "I found something you might need." He spins around, lifting an evidence bag off the nearby counter.

Inside is a cell phone.

"They couldn't find this on her at the scene," I say, taking the bag and looking over it.

"It was in her boot."

We both stare down at the woman, her now grey-white, her lips so pale they seem to have sunken back and disappeared.

"We really need to find her identity," I say, letting out a saddened breath. "I need to be able to inform her family."

"Yeah, I don't envy you that job," Verda replies his shoulders sagging. "But I'm glad you care about that kind of thing. More than most detectives would want to do, back in the city stations."

I half-smile at him, appreciative of the compliment.

"There's not much I can tell you at the moment," Verda continues. "Though I did notice bruises around her wrists and ankles."

"She was tied down?" I ask, the thought making my chest tight.

"So is would seem..." His voice trails off in obvious sympathy for the poor woman.

My hand tightens around the cell phone, and I bring it up it to turn on through the evidence bag. The phone flashes to life and I give a sigh of relief to find it's not PIN-protected.

Flicking through the call log, there are usual names: home, work, but then only a very few other numbers. The text are pretty standard too, though – again – very few of them.

"She obviously didn't get out much," Verda says, as glances over the phone too,

"I can sympathise," I say, continuing to look through the phone. "It's not exactly easy balanacing this job and a social life."

"It can be done," Verda replies with a chuckle. "But it's hard work."

"Why am I not surprised you manage to find time to get out and about?" I throw him a grin.

He shrugs, then moves back towards his desk. "Life can't be all work, Detective."

The conversation is halted as I go through the photos on her phone. A few catch my attention.

"Something wrong?" Verda asks.

"No, it's just..." I stare at the pictures closer. They're blurred as though taken in motion, but the stained walls and cracked metal beams are familiar. "I recognise where these pictures were taken, and they seem to be the last photos she took."

"You think she managed to capture where she was murdered?"

"Possibly," I reply, shutting off the phone and frowning. "Looks like it's from the old Farris Warehouse at the edge of town. Tina and I had quite a few patrols up there. It's falling to pieces, but the teenagers still insist on risking their necks by going in it."

"Ah, to be youthful once more," Verda says, to which I can't help but laugh. "Will you go over to the warehouse now?"

"I will, after I've done some paperwork," I reply, moving to the doorway and glancing back at him.

"Alone?"

"I've got my radio if I need backup, but I'm pretty sure Tina check it out already the other day, I can't imagine some deranged murderer is still hanging about in there."

He frowns in concern. "Be careful, Detective."

"You worried about me, Verda?" I ask, throwing him a smirk.

"You're about the best person I've worked for," he replies with just as much of a smile. "I don't fancy having to get used to someone new."

My laughter echoes about the room as I make my way out, shaking my head and feeling much better than I have since find out about the case.


	3. Chapter Two

**First Blood**

**Chapter Two**

**. . .**

**A**fter a century of neglect, I'm impressed to find the paint declaring 'Farris and Sons' still clinging to the brick of the large, rectangular warehouse in some kind of defiance towards time. The roof isn't putting up as much of a fight. The metal, corrugated tiles are peeling away; some, already fallen, lie discarded on the swathe of concrete spreading out from the building like a dull, grey moat.

The warehouse is hidden from view of the town by the forest and is far enough out on the edge that no one really pays it much attention. 'Out of sight, out mind' is a motto that suits Wayhaven quite well in general.

There is still enough of a trail through the trees for me to drive my car up to the building, though I find me teeth clacking together more than once over the uneven dirt track. I'm thankful to pull up onto the concrete; the cracks are easier to deal with than the tree roots.

Cranking on the handbrake, I lean over my passenger seat, ignoring the piles of crumpled paperwork, until my hands find the slim handle of my flashlight. It's weight piece of equipment, but its light slices through the gloom easily as I step out of the car.

I glance over the shadowed scene of the abandoned warehouse, the moon beginning to rise behind it. The silence from the surrounding trees only makes the squeak of the metal doors echo louder. I can't help my mind running to who or what I might find inside, and whether it might be dangerous.

I can handle myself well in a fight, if it comes to that. But still, the uncertainty of the situation makes me anxious.

My hand travels to the gun and pepper spray on my belt, though the gesture doesn't help to settle my nerves as much as I'd hoped. I can't tell if it's the chill night air or worry that makes me suddenly shiver, but I do my best to brush the feeling away.

I press onwards into the warehouse, hoping to get this over with as quickly as possible.

Inside, I sweep my flashlight across the interior of the warehouse, the beam of light flashing through the murky darkness. It definitely seems empty, though I'm if that is a relief, or more a concern.

My shoes hit dirt-caked floor, and I glance down. The titles must have been rather beautiful at one point. Hints of yellow and red jut out between the dried mud, dust, and plants as my shoes scuff against them,

Graffiti lines most of the crumbling walls – all of it spray-painted with perfect spelling and grammar. God forbid one of the rebellious rich kids' parents find out they had spelled 'this place stinks' incorrectly. I roll my eyes at the mild language and tidy handwriting before wondering where to start.

Knowing it's probably better to check that no one is going to sneak up on me from outside, I head back through the doors to the doors to the concrete lot and trees. It is a little lighter out here with both the glow of moonlight and my flashlight, but I still keep my steps steady over the both cracks and grass.

Starting a perimeter along the outside walls of the building, I keep my gaze flickering over anything strange or unusual. By the time I'm nearly back at the front of the warehouse, I realise there is no one but me around, and nothing out of place about the building's exterior.

I move back inside, pushing open the squeaking metal door. My focus flashes up at a shadowy movement across my path.

I swallow hard, balling my free hand into a tense fist at my side before relaxing my fingers. With slow, steady footsteps I approach the figure, readying myself for whatever they might do.

But it seems if there had been anyone here, they aren't around any longer.

A sudden flurry of movement sounds from behind me, and my heart leaps into my throat. On instinct, I unholster my gun and spin around, pointing the barrel at the noise.

L let out a sharp breath when I realise it's just a flock of pigeons flying from the rafters. "Thank god no one was around to see that..."

With my nerves truly shredded, I shove my gun back its holster. I am just about to strap it back in when I flinch again at the shrill ring of my phone from my pocket.

The ringing stings against my hearing, which had grown used to the heavy silence. I snap my phone out my pocket and press it to my ear without at who's calling. "Detective Blake," I say, my voice coming out in barely more than a whisper.

"You all right, Detective?" Verda asks from the other end.

I clear my throat at the sound of his voice, shaking myself from the burst of adrenaline beginning to drain from my body. "Yeah, just got a bit of a scare at the warehouse."

"Are you all right? Do you need me to send someone to you?"

"There you go again, Verda, being concerned for me," I say with a chuckle. I lean against the windowsill nearby, quickly changing my mind when the dust leaves a stain on my coat.

His laugh echoes from the phone. "Well, excuse me for being worried. You never know; it could be something worse than a murderer, like a ghost."

"A ghost, really?" I scoff.

"Or a werewolf. It is a full moon, after all."

I give a chuckle, glancing out through the dirt-stained window to the bright moon beyond. The moonlight highlights the tops of the skeletal tree that stretch out towards town. "As if anything that exciting would find its way to Wayhaven," I say in a heavy tone.

"Though speaking of strange things, I found something odd about our victim..." He lets his words trail off and I shift on the spot, waiting for him to continue.

"So odd it's shocked you into silence?" I ask.

"Almost," he replies, followed by a soft chuckle. "It's her blood." There's the sound of shuffling papers down the phone. "It's not hers."

I frown deeply, wondering if I heard him correctly. "What?"

"The blood in her body isn't hers. In fact, it's not even fully human."

"Animal blood?" I offer as a guess.

"I'm not sure," he says, followed by a heavy sigh. "It resembles human blood, but it's definitely not all hers. The best way I can think of to describe it so far is that a parasitic virus has mutated the blood cells in a major way."

As I continue to talk, I decide to start making my way out of the warehouse. The echo my voice around the empty room is a bit distracting. "And here I was, hoping for a nice, normal murder," I say, ending with a sigh.

"Are there ever any of those?" he says, chuckling. "I won't know anything more until I get the results of the tests, but I'll make sure to send them off to the hospital first thing tomorrow."

For all the modern appliances the station has, coincidentally donated by the mayor after his son decided to join the force, there isn't enough room for the big machines. Any testing has to be done at the local hospital.

"All right, I'll see you tomorrow then."

"Yeah, see you then," he says.

I hit the end call button and shove the phone back in my pocket, grabbing the metal door to head outside – only for someone to come barrelling into me from behind, sending me flying through the door.

I collide heavily with concrete and let out a loud hiss as pain jolts through my chest and arms. My flashlight skids across the concrete, the beam blinding me as it comes to rest a few feet away, shinning brightly in my eyes.

Forcing myself onto my hands and knees, I glance up, my body stiffening to see a shadowed figure looming over me in the moonlight.

I scramble onto my feet, my hand flashing down to my hip where my gun is. My fingers only find an empty holster.

I frown, confused, then remember I hadn't the chance to so the strap back after getting my weapon out earlier. Groaning at the memory, I sway on my feet glancing about the darkened area and spotting my gun laying discarded not far form the flashlight.

Thankfully, it seems whoever is looming at me through the darkness is polite enough to wait until I'm ready before doing whatever it is they plan to so while looking so threatening.

"I'm with the police," I announce, but it seems to cause little reaction. I can barely make out the shape of them, although it seems to be a man – a gangly one.

We stand opposite each other, neither making a sound. I'm unsure about what to do next. My breath clouds into white plumes as it hits the cold air, and I call my fists at my sides.

"I think you should come with me-" My words are cut short as, out of the darkness, another figure appears and slams into the side of the man I was just looking at.

The two of the crash to one side, rolling behind my car. There is a loud grunt, then the distinctive sound of concrete cracking under force.

I make to step forwards, but my path is suddenly blocked by the appearance of three more people, hidden by the night's darkness. Heavily outnumbered and completely confused, I force myself to move, diving for my gun.

I grab it up, spin on my heel, and point it at the group of shadowed figures before me. The sounds of fighting still echo from behind my car. None of the figures seem to me much attention, a fact I am thankful for. Instead, they are all focused on the fight continuing out of sight behind my car.

As I suck in a sharp breath, the sudden cold hits my lungs and shocks me from my momentary paralysis of confusion and anxiety. I take a wide step forward and call, "Don't leave me out of the action."

The heads of the three figures snap around to face me, and I flinch at the eerily quick motion.

"Who the hell is he?" one of them asks.

"I don't know, but I like his style," another replies, the flicker of amusement in their tone apparently caused by my statement.

The car beside us suddenly rocks slightly, the two people behind it finally surfacing. The taller of the two slams the other onto the bonnet of my car, and I frown as the metal buckles beneath the heavy impact.

"All right, that's enough!" I yell, surprised at the commanding tone to my voice, considering the situation.

The figure holding the man down glances up at my words, but as soon as they do, their captive cracks his fist against their jaw. The captor stumbles back from impact. I have to blink rapidly as the man flashes past me in a blur so fast it can't be real.

"Don't let him go!" the figure calls, rubbing their jaw from the hit.

The group tenses, obviously about to run after the speeding figure. But I move forwards and come to stand before them, my gun still raised. "Stay where you are!"

Amazingly, they do – all four of them – and it gives me a slight boost in confidence,

_Four?_ I suddenly realise just how outnumbered I am, and my breathing speeds up a little. I can barely see them through the dark, not even able to make out their genders or specific features.

My eyes flicker to my car where my radio is. The group of them now stand as a barrier between me and the vehicle. Backup is out of the question.

Still, I have my gun.

I tighten my fingers around the hilt of the weapons, finger hover the trigger.

There are times when it's been necessary to pull the trigger, but I really don't want to have to do it again. My grip falters slightly, but I try to keep my stance and unmoving.

One of the shadowed figures shuffles a step closer. "Look, whoever you are-"

"Don't come any closer," I warn.

"Or what?" another asks from the darkness, the question out in a half-taunt. I swing my gun around to face the speaker, though I can barely make them out in the gloom.

I lick my dry lips, though my throat is so dry it doesn't help any. "I will shoot." My voice wavers slightly, but I try to hold my ground.

The gun suddenly feels like an iron weight in my hands, my fingers aching to keep it raised. There is a heavy silence, broken only by my heavy breathing and the slight breeze that rattles through the surrounding trees.

"He's bluffing," one of them suddenly says. "I say knock him out and let's go."

There's a quick shift of movement from the corner of my eye as one of them steps closer. I turn to them with a sharp breath... and shoot.

The crack of the gun is like lightning as it pierces through the quiet. I grit my teeth as the recoil sends a spasm pulsing up my arm and into my shoulder. My body is still battered from my fall earlier, though I manage to keep my balance.

And amazingly, so does the person I shot.

For a moment I wonder if I hit them at all, but they suddenly give a small grunt and grab at their right shoulder.

They should have been on the floor after being shot at such close range!

"Shit! He actually shot you!" There is a peal of laughter from one of the other figures, and my eyes widen to hear amusement in it and not concern for their friend.

"This isn't exactly my finest moment..." I say, my gun lowering slightly, but still raised enough just in case. "Look, you need to come with me down to the station." My stomach knots slightly with guilt. "I can get you some medical help there."

"I'd say this is a moment that will never be forgotten," the one who was laughing calls, amusement still hanging on their words.

"Shut up," the wounded one growls through the darkness.

Their conversation makes me swallow hard, and I try to plant my feet firmer on the ground to steady myself.

A metallic bang makes me swing around, only to find it's the door of the warehouse creaking in the breeze. I turn back to face the group... but they've vanished.

_How could they be gone? I didn't even heat footsteps!_

With a heavy sigh, I stumble towards my car and lean heavily against the side. Adrenaline course through my body, but I know in the morning I am going to hurt like never before.

A dull ache throbbing at my side proves my point. My gaze turns down to the crumpled dent in the bonnet of my car, and groan.

Even with my body beginning to ache, I know I should look around before leaving, as much as my bed is calling to me. I push myself up and limp back towards the area where the fight and the strangers were.

I bend down to retrieve my flashlight and pass the beam over the area. There is nothing of interest. I am just about to give up and head home when the light catches something dark and glistening on the concrete. I shift over to it, crouching down to find it is blood.

_Must be from the person I shot_. Moving back towards my car, I grab a small evidence kit and scoop up some of the blood on a cotton swab, figuring it can't hurt to test it our. I might get lucky and they might be in the system.

With a satisfied nod, I hobble back to my car, really beginning to feel the aftershock of my earlier fall. The car engine coughs to life as I stick the key in the ignition. I put it into gear the moment it starts, never having been so eager to get home.


	4. Chapter Three

**First Blood**

**Chapter Three: Unit Bravo**

**. . .**

It's difficult to decide between 'weirdos' or 'creepy shadow people' as I'm typing up my report the next morning. Not only had I discharged my gun, I'd actually injured one of them, which adds a whole new file of paperwork to fill in.

_The sooner I get this paperwork over with, the sooner it will be done and no on my ever-growing to-do list._ I let out a heavy sigh at the thought. I glance up for a moment, staring out of my office's glass partition to the station beyond and readying myself to settle down further into my chair. I start getting to work – that is, until I hear the gentle echoes of 'beep bop... beep bop... beep bop...'

Through the glass, I can Douglas at the front desk, staring down at his phone. He is playing some kind of game on it, and the screen is brightly lit.

"I'm going to take that phone if you don't put it away right now, Officer Friedman!" I empasise his title, though I don't know why. He has never acted like an officer so far, so I'm not sure why reminding him of his duty would make him do so now.

Douglas whips around to face me, his eyes wide. His while face looks very much like a deer caught in the headlights. "Oh..."

"Well?" I ask with a shrug.

"So... so sorry, Detective!" he calls back before shoving his pone into his trouser pocket. He swings his chair around to face the front of the station and begins drumming his fingers loudly on the counter-top.

_I could deal with anyone but him..._ I let out a long groan at the thought.

Suddenly, a welcome visitor peers around my doorway.

"You okay, Ryan?" Tina asks, worry in her words. She moves further into the room and shuts the door to my office.

I raise a brow at her concern. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"Verda told me you went to the Farris Warehouse on a hunch. Did it pay off?" She glances over me. I'm sitting slightly hunched, my body still aching from the confrontation last night. "And you're not exactly looking so good."

"Yeah, the victim had some blurred photos of the warehouse," I reply. "So I went to check it out. It ended up being a popular place last night, apparently."

She balances herself on the edge of my desk beside me. "Who were they? Did you find anything?"

"Well, I managed to collect this off of one of the strangers," I say, pulling the blood sample I collected from the top drawer of my desk.

Her brow arch in surprise. "How did you manage to get that? I can't believe they were willing to just let you take it."

I purse my lips for a moment. "It wasn't willingly, no. I may have shot one of them."

"You what?" Her eyes widen so big I worry they might not ever close again.

"It was a tense night," I say in my defence, placing the blood sample down on the desk.

She calms a little, a smile lighting her eyes. "I don't doubt you did what you had to."

"Can you take it down to Verda for me?"

"Sure thing; I've got get going on my patrol soon anyway." Her smile turns mischievous. "I'm pretty sure my route goes past Haley's Bakery." She leaves with a spring in her step.

I try to get back to work, my stomach grumbling at the mention of pastries.

**. . .**

**T**he rest of the morning passes slowly. The patrol finds nothing unusual, and our reliable scouts around town (the elderly who just love to curtain-twitch whenever they get the chance) also haven't seen anything strange, nor any new visitors to Wayhaven.

I slap down the phone I had been speaking to Tina on and run my hands over my face. Picking up the coffee I made myself a few minutes before, not having had a chance all morning, I gulp back a mouthful. Then I almost spit it back over my desk, gagging on the cold slop which fills my mouth. It takes all my strength to swallow it down, my face pinching together to force it past my tongue.

"What is this?" I yell, holding up the offending drink towards Douglas through the glass partition.

He spins on his chair to face me through the window, glances at the drink, then shrugs. "The kettle's broken."

"And no one thought to tell me?"

He purses lips. "I just did."

I try to grumble through my anger and push myself out of my chair to head to the small kitchen area. The red light on the kettle blinks at me like a heartbeat – a weak one. I lean down towards it, peering at the white plastic shell of the machine.

After unplugging the machine, I pull off the bottom of the casing and have a look inside. It's pretty obvious what the problem is as soon as I examine it, so I set to work.

A few minutes later the kettle whirs to life, the red light flashing happily away. I stand back, placing my hands on my hips and giving a pleased nod.

"You always did have a knack for technology." The new voice makes me whirl around, and my brow arch in surprise to see the woman standing before me.

"Mum!"

She smiles at me, placing a gentle hand on my arm in greeting.

It's more than a bit of a shock to find her standing before me. She's usually away, due to her work – a fact that hadn't changed even when I was a child.

I shrug off her greeting, taking a small step back and folding my arms. "I didn't think you'd visit."

She frowns, obviously pained at my stiff greeting, though it's hardly unusual. "I'm sorry. I should have visited sooner,2 she replies, attempting a smile.

"Why?" I ask, moving towards my office. "You rarely visit at all."

She follows me. "I know."

"Plus, I've been too bust to accept many visitors."

As we head inside, she glances over my whiteboard I had set to one side, with notes and photos of the murder placed on it. "So I can see." She takes a seat on the other side of the desk, and I move to sit in my own chair.

"Why are you here?" I finally ask, leaning back in my chair a little to examine her. She hasn't changed much.

She's always had a mature, commanding presence. She looks younger than she is, though I do notice a few new wrinkles on her forehead, accentuated by the uncertain frown she now pulls. She looks out of place against the clutter of my office in her pristine grey suit, bright white shirt, and stiff, formal posture. "The title of Agent Rebecca Blake growing a bit dull?" I say.

She shakes her head, folding her elegant hands into her lap. "No, work is going fine."

A vague response, but that's not unusual. Every time I've attempted to find out more about her job, I'm always met with the same mysterious replies before the conversation quickly changes. The most I know is that she works for some shadowy government agency.

She tells me, "In fact, that's partly why I'm here."

"Oh?"

"The case you're working on..." Her gaze shifts over to the whiteboard once again. "It's bigger than you think."

"The whole thing did seem to be beyond an accident," I reply, leaning forwards slightly and bring my fingers to my lips in thought. "Or even a first-time murder."

"A keen observation," she replies with pride in her tone. It quickly leaves as her professional expression return. "The..." She clears her throat, her brow knotting in a slight frown, as though stumbling for a word. "The man you're looking for has killed before, in many places."

I swallow hard and try not to show my disturbance at this news. "And now he's picked Wayhaven as his killing ground?"

"We've been tracking him for months." She stands from her chair and begins pacing. "But I don't believe he will be leaving Wayhaven for some time, so now is our last chance to catch him."

"Why won't he be leaving?" I slump back in my chair, a little disheartened by all this information. She twists around to face me, her lips set into a tight line. I sigh in sudden understanding "It's classified."

She nods. "I'm afraid so. But there is something I can off you." I perk up at this. It must be serious if I'm being offered resources by whomever she works for. "It's something the mayor is keen for you to utilise." My excitement deflates a little.

I ball my fists on my desk and frown. "I can handle this on my own. It is my job, you know."

"And what I offer can help make your job a lot easier. Trust me." She sounds serious in her reply, but my frown remains fixed.

Rebecca closes the gap to my desk, placing a hand on mine. "I know you can solve this. Otherwise, the Agency wouldn't have allowed me to let you lead such a big case. They'd be asking me to wake over instead."

I snap my hand back from her touch, the motherly affection a little too late in life to be appreciated now. I notice pain streak across her features, but she moves away to hide it.

"So, what is it you're offering?" I ask.

"My unit."

I arch a brow. "Pardon?"

"My unit, the team of agents I command." She gives a half-smile at my obvious surprise.

"I didn't even know you had a team. I thought you ran some department-"

"I do," she quickly interrupts. Once again, she stops the conversation about her work before it even begins.

I watch as she moves to the doorway, gesturing towards the front doors of the station. I try to peer around her to see who she is calling, but I can't see anything until four women march into the room after my mother.

It's hard to keep my jaw from dropping; the group of them look as though they strode straight off the catwalk into my office. I eventually stumble onto my feet and move around my desk.

With six of us now crammed into my office, it's beginning to feel a little crowded. However, when I meet the eye of one of the group and she offers a smile, I relax a little.

"Detective Ryan Matthew Blake, I'd like you meet my team: Unit Bravo."

None of them says anything in response, and silence begins to descend on the room like an uncomfortable blanket.

"Do they have names?" I ask. "Or do I just call them Thing 1 and Thing 2?"

My attempt at breaking through the awkward quiet unappreciated by most of the group, expect the one who smiled at me just moments before. She gives a soft chuckle.

"Apologies, Detective Blake," she says, stepping forward and offering a hand. I take it and give a firm shake. "My name is Natalie Sewell, but I prefer Nat." There's no distinguishable accent. None at all. Once again she gives a bright, warm smile, making her dark brown eyes sparkle.

She's tall, incredibly so, at least six feet at a guess. She withdraws her hand, shoving it into the pockets of her jeans.

The earthy tones she wears complement her tawny-coloured skin. Her wavy, dark brown hair is styled up, as casual as her whole being seems to portray, from the leather jacket, open shirt, t-shirt, and jeans, to the way she leans back on her heels slightly as she stands.

Her lips are still curled into a smile when my gaze has finished passing over her, as though she knew I was inspecting her and was happy to allow it.

Nat steps back into the line-up of her group, standing beside a woman a few inches shorter than she is. The woman stares at me for a short moment, her posture stiff, and her expression stern.

Thankfully, one of the others approaches me before I have to deal with that rather imposing stranger.

"I'm Farah," the approaching woman says, a more American accent to her tone. "Farah Hauville." She's quite obviously the youngest of the group – dressed in skinny jeans, a long t-shirt half-covered by a heavy cotton scarf, a waistcoat, and large silver hoops that glisten against her shoulder-length black hair.

Her rich, dark brown skin almost seems to gleam gold in the sunlight, her bold yet feminine features contrasting with the soft smile she throws me. I reach out to take her hand.

She shakes it for a moment before clasping it tighter and sauntering a step closer. She's much shorter than Nat, five foot four at most, but her entire being is rather overwhelming as she stands so close.

"A true delight to meet you, Detective," she coos, moving close to kiss my cheek in greeting.

"It is nice to meet you," I begin in reply, "but not quite that much." I step back before she can come near.

She gives an exaggerated shrug. "You won't say that once you get to know me." She winks at me before moving back to her group. I notice Nat shake her head in an exasperated manner at Farah, but the woman only gives a bright grin in return.

I shake away the previous introduction, turning to the dark-haired stranger on my right. I am still attempting not to look at the stern woman standing beside Nat, who continues to examine me with a narrowed gaze.

"And you are?" I ask, holding out a hand in greeting once again.

"Finding all of this unnecessary," she replies curtly, a gentle, lilting accent to her statement I can't quite recognise.

"That's a rather long name, don't you think?" I say, half-smiling to lighten her mood. "Do you have a shorter one?"

"Ha!" Farah bursts out a laugh, nudging the woman in front of me, who stumbles slightly. "Not so clever now, are you, Morgan?"

"She is Specialist Agent Morgan," my mother confirms.

The woman introduced as Morgan sneers at her companion. She stands slightly hunched, though she still has to be about five foot seven. Waves of layered dark brown hair hang around her long face; her straight nose and narrow eyes give her a rather wolfish appearance.

Her deep tan skin is painted with light freckles that cover her nose and cheeks, continuing down her neck until they are hidden by a long-sleeved, tight-fitting t-shirt and heavy black jeans. Cords of leather sit around her neck and are tied around her wrists.

A crystal dangles on one of the cords, but I barely get a chance to see it before she notices where my gaze has fallen and slips it inside her shirt.

I fold my arms across my chest. "Charmed."

"You shouldn't be," she replies, her voice monotone. Now she's just trying to bait me, a dangerous glint flashing in her stormy grey eyes, shadowed by thick, manicured brows. I glare at her, not wanting to act unprofessional, but seriously debating it.

"Save it, Morgan," a voice commands, and I stiffen in eerie recognition.

I turn to the imposing, stern-looking woman and frown in confusion. My mother steps forward, a proud smile on her face, yet I continue to stare, her voice still echoing in my mind.

_It was the same one from outside of the warehouse last night. I'm sure of it._

"Ah, Ryan, let me introduce you to the team leader: Commanding Agent Ava du Mortain." Our narrowed stares hold before my mother steps closer once more and leans over to whisper, "Is something wrong?"

I shake my head and blink out of my silence. "No, it's nothing. Sorry."

It's ridiculous to think it was her; must just be my imagination... It was a pretty intense night, easy to get confused. Plus, I did shoot whoever it was last night. Looking over the group, no one seems to be doubled over in pain from a closer-range pistol shot.

Then, for the last time, I offer out my hand in introduction. Ava stares down at it though the gesture is completely foreign, but eventually take it.

"Look forward to working with you," she says, every word spoken in a distinct British accent, and each one also sounding like a lie.

"Likewise," I reply, pulling my hand back and pressing it against my thigh to stop the aching in my fingers from her surprisingly firm grasp.

She turns her gaze quickly away, but I let mine linger for a moment.

She's easily five foot eight, with an athletic build obvious beneath her grey t-shirt and dark combat trousers. Her pale, creamy skin barely has a tan or flush to it at all, and her dark blonde hair is only just visible pulled so tightly into a knot.

Everything about her screams soldier, including her stiff, upright posture and emotionless face. Still, I can't deny her long nose and distinctive features make her remarkably attractive.

I flinch slightly as her icy green gaze flicks back to meet mine, and I stare back for a moment before we both look away.

"Well, now that introductions have been made, I hope you'll all work together to find the murderer," my mother says, her gaze shifting pointedly over her team. "Unit Bravo were only assigned this case a couple of weeks ago themselves, so they'll be as fresh as you. But I'm proud of their accomplishments so far, and have no doubt they will aid you their highest abilities."

Morgan scoffs from where she's balanced herself against a side table in the furthest corner.

My mother ignores her, striding past the group towards me. "I'm giving you my team to help, so use them as best you can. They are experienced at this kind of work."

She moves to lean in for a goodbye hug but I take a step back, glancing down at my desk and sorting through my papers. She continues to push out relationship now, though she has never bothered to do so before?

"Well, I'll see you soon, Ryan," she says. My mother heads towards the door, pulling her long jacket about herself tighter. "Ava, don't forget the reason you team is here." I frown at the look she throws the leader of the group, a silent exchange passing between them before her heels clicks over the floor as she leaves.

Shaking away the strange moment. I decide where to begin briefing Unit Bravo.

I stand behind my desk, pulling out the very thin file on the murder. When I glance up, I find the group have already settled themselves about the room. Their casualness together makes feel very much like the newcomer, but I brush the feeling away and straighten myself.

"Our pathologist has begun working on the autopsy," I begin. The only one who really seems to be paying attention is Nat. "But with this being first murder in our town-"

"The first murder you are aware of," Ava says suddenly from where she stands looks out of the window.

I glance over at her, raising a brow. "Excuse me?"

"The police are not always needed for solving crimes," she repeats, not bothering to looks at me as she speaks.

"Well, considering this is a crime the police are needed for, I shall work to solve it." I turn my attention back to the file. "We did manage to find the victim's phone, which my colleague, Tina Poname, is currently working through. As for the murder itself-"

"We already know about the murder," Ava says, twisting herself around to face me fully.

I grit my teeth at the repeated interruptions. "Still, I would like to go through all the facts before continuing. So as we're all on the same page. As I said, this my fist murder case. I would like to be prepared."

She crosses her arms in response, her pale pink lips pulled so tight I wonder if she'll ever be able to make a different expression. "We can handle this. This isn't out first murder, Detective." My title drips from her tongue like she's appeasing a five-year old. "There have already been multiple kills related to this target-"

"Kills? Target?" I repeat the words she used just moment before. "You're treating this whole thing like a mission rather than an investigation!" I throw my hands into the air in exasperation.

One of her blonde brows arches in response to my outburst. Farah, sitting in the chair beside my desk, barely hides her snigger of laughter.

Ava stares at me, her eyes slightly narrowed, though apparently in inspection rather than anger. As I stare back at her, holding my ground, I feel an odd tension course through my limbs at out held gaze. At first I figure it's guilt from interrupting her, but when the tension grows, I find my stomach erupting into a small flutter and my knees weakening slightly. I clear my throat and quickly glance away.

I'm not sure what that was, but the effect lingers for a moment. When I dare a look back, I find she snaps her gaze away, a small frown creasing her brow.

"Can we just get on with the job now?" Morgan asks, interrupting the silence. She fumbles in the pocket of her jeans before drawing out a gleaming silver lighter, then perching a long cigarette between her lips.

"Hey," I call, getting her attention before gesturing to the unmissable, bright white and red 'No Smoking' sign plastered to the wall right beside her.

She turns to look at the sign before staring back at me a moment. She then proceeds to flick open the lighter.

A small flame sparks to life, searing the end of the cigarette and making it glow red. She inhales deeply, holding my gaze, before puffing out a long stream of grey smoke.

_This is the team my mother is so proud of?_ I scoff at the thought. _She can keep them._

Ava's arms drop yo her sides. "Morgan's right. We should get on with the task at hand, rather than discussing details we already know."

"These details could reveal something important," I reply. "Maybe one of us will catch something the others missed."

But my words aren't even heard as Ava barking out orders to her team members. Her suggestions are to check out newcomers to town, search any unused locations around the borders, and interrogate – interrogate, not interview – anybody who may have seen what happened.

The group rise from their places like dogs eager to follow her command.

_Enough is enough!_

I step out from around my desk and plant my feet firmly on the floor. "You cannot just barrel in her and crash about town in the hopes of finding a deranged murderer hiding out there somewhere!" My voice is louder and more commanding than I expected, making even Douglas glance up from the front desk and tense.

The tall, athletic leader turns slowly to face me, seeming once again more curious than angered. "Following my lead is the only way we'll catch the killer."

I cock a hip and place a hand on it. "Well, obviously not, seeing as you haven't caught him yet." I notice Farah grin in amusement behind Ava, but try to keep my focus trained on their leader. Ava's lips tighten only a fraction of an amount, but I know I've finally pressed her buttons as much as she's pushed mine.

A heavy silence reigns over the office once again, and I'm thankful when Nat steps into the centre of the room, like some kind of referee during a boxing match.

"We're a large group," she says, resting a hand on Ava's shoulder as though bringing her out of silent thoughts. "Certainly large enough to split out resources." She looks at me, smiling and giving a nod of encouragement. "What do you suggest we do, Detective?"

The hostility in the team leader's posture settles, reminding me of a bird calming ruffled feathers, and she spins away from me. I let out a subtle, calming breath and lean back against my desk, thinking over my options.

"I would suggest going to look at the crime scene. Now that the technicians and crowds are gone, we might find something that was missed in the bustle," I say sitting back on my desk.

"Then Farah and I will go with you," Nat offers. "And Morgan can go with Ava to-"

Farah steps between us. "I think it was 'crash about town,'" she says, repeating my words from earlier and gaining a stern glare from Nat.

I run a hand over my hair. "That sounds like a good idea. We can meet back here in a few hours?" Both Nat and I turn to look at Ava , who remains silent for a moment before giving a stiff nod.

"A few hours, then," she says. And that is that. She strides out of my office, followed close behind by Morgan, looking like some strange type of entourage.

"Well, that meeting probably could have gone better..." I mutter quietly. I jump when it seems Nat heard what I mumbled.

She chuckles softly, half-smiling at me. "It went better than most meetings Ava has." I return the smile, all the intensity of the moments before draining away with Nat's apparently much calmer presence.

"You can say that again," Farah mutters.

"I am sorry about Ava. We don't often work with others, and I don't think she's too worried about improving her social etiquette when we do."

I shake my head. "It's not you who should be apologising for her bad manners."

"I do have to commend you," she begins. "There are not many who don't cow down to her..."

"Intimidating attitude?"

She grins. "Yes, that's a good way of putting it. I just don't want first impression of our team – your mother's team – to be based on Ava's poor social skills." She lets out a bright laugh.

As the moment turns quiet, I find myself holding her gaze, unaware I'm really doing so. The bright calmness in her eyes draws me in, and it's a few moments more before I snap my focus away, a slight heat settling on my cheeks.

"So, shall we head over to the crime scene?" Nat suggests.

"That sounds good. We can all take my car, if you'd like?" I say, pushing myself off of my desk and heading to the door.

"That's all right," Nat replies.

Farah strides a little ahead of me. "We're faster on our own."

I frown in confusion.

Nat lets out a slightly strained chuckle. "What she means is that we have a government vehicle at out disposal." From the confused look on Farah's face, I'm guessing that wasn't what she meant at all, but I shake my head and let it go.

Farah marches on out, and as Nat reaches the doorway, I glance at her to meet her eyes. "You seem a lot different to the others in your team."

She gives a chuckle, a deep sound that reverberates from her chest and seems to vibrate through the air and land on my skin. "I'm more like them than I would care to admit." Her voice wavers, and I frown as I'm sure I hear a tone of regret in her words.

**. . .**

When I arrive at the crime scene, I find it a much difference picture from the last time I was here. The debris has been cleared away, there are no crowds, and I manage to pull up and park in the alleyway without issue. As I step out of my car, I wrinkle my nose, finding that the overpowering stench is still the same.

"Detective."

I spin around at the sound of my title to find Nat and Farah approaching. Farah's gaze passes over the dented, scratched body of my silver car, and her lips thin.

"Suddenly I'm glad we made our own way here," she says, looking at me and smirking. "Can't imagine the trip in that banged up tin can would have been much fun."

"Farah..." Nat warns, but the younger agent barely pays attention.

I shake my head at her comment, not being baited into making an kind of reply.

Instead, I glance about the alleyway and frown. "Where's your car?"

Farah turns to Nat, a slow smile spreading on her lips. "Yeah, Nat, where is our car? I mean, how else would we have gotten here?"

Nat shrugs casually, shoving her hands into the pockets of her jeans. "It's parked around another alley. I wasn't entirely sure how to get here, so we walked a couple of streets over."

Farah lets out a disappointed sigh at the response.

I nod, beginning to walk past them. "We better take a look before we draw attention from the nose neighbours." I can already see a couple of curtains shift open, curious faces partly obscured by the glass.

"Looks like the techs did a good job," I say, scanning the area. "Don't think there can be much left that they missed."

"Can't we just look at the stuff they collected then?" Farah suggests.

I peer over my shoulder at her. "They take it back to the city to be catalogued before we can examine it. We won't get a chance to look at it for some time."

"It's like they don't trust you or something," she replies.

"Tell me about it.." I mutter, turning my focus back to the alley.

"I'll check the ends of the streets," Nat says, and I nod at her as she moves off.

Farah remains standing nearby. "Would you like me to come with you, Detective? I can... watch you back." There's a playful tone to the suggestion, a smile once again spreading over her lips.

I glance about the alleyway, the street empty expect for us, then turn to face Farah. "Why do you need to watch my back? There's no one here. I doubt the killer hung around."

Farah purse her full lips in confusion before smirking. "Well, I suppose you got me on that..." She chuckles and shrugs. I can help but feel I missed something, so I turn to move down the alleyway.

It only a few until I reach where the body was found. The memory of the woman laying pale and lifeless on the ground makes pause, but I force myself on, crouching down.

Splatters of dark grey on the concrete catch my attention – remnants of blood from the victim. Apart from that, there's hardly anything here; even the weeds have been cleared away.

I'm about to stand when a dull glint of metal catches my eye. I frown, pulling out a latex glove from my pocket and slipping it on. Buried amongst the mud and debris lining the gap between the wall of the building and the ground, there is small, anchor-shaped pin. I pick it up and move towards the end of the street to get a bit more light.

"Found something?" Nat asks, as she moves towards me from the end of the street.

I spin around and hold out my hand, the pin sitting on my palm.

"What is it?" Farah asks, her top lip drawn back a little.

"It's a pin. More specifically, it's a dock worker's pin." I pull it back and examine it closer. It's made of cheap metal, the sides of the anchor already tarnished, but it's too distinctive to be mistaken. "The dock workers used to have them. It granted them a free drink at the Seagull's Cry pub."

Nat smiles at me. "Good work, Detective. I guess even the techs can't beat you."

"I'm not sure how much good it will do us, though." I glance over the pin closer. "The scheme was ended a few years ago by Mayor Friedman, who didn't think free beer was a good thing to promote for the town."

"He sounds like a bundle of fun," Farah mumbles, folding her arms across her chest.

"The workers had to hand in their pins, and they were melted down." I glance up. "I can't see anyone admitting to owning one, especially if it's going to make them a suspect in a murder case."

"Then we'll have to see if we can find who it belongs to before confronting the workers," Nat suggests.

I nod. "I'll get Tina on it. She always enjoys prying into people in town." I slip the pin into an evidence bag and push it into my pocket. "We better take a look and see if we can find anything else."

A couple of hours later, we have found nothing but more dirt and debris.

I'm about to suggest heading back to the station when my phone rings. I look at the screen to see Verda's name.

I click the button and press the phone to my ear. "What's up, Verda?"

"I've found something about that blood sample you collected from the warehouse," Verda replies, making me pause. I turn a little away from the others and stroll down the street further.

"Go ahead," I reply.

"It's quite remarkable," he begins, letting out a sharp breath as though to reinforce his statement. "It seems to be similar – near on the same, in fact – to the strange blood I found in the victim."

My eyes widen. "What?"

"I don't know who this sample is from, Detective, but whoever they are should either be very ill or very dead." He pauses. ",,,Or undead."

"Thanks, Verda." I turn back to start walking to the others, their focus already on me as I approach. "Let me know when you get anything else."

"Sure thing."

I click the phone off and then jump to find Nat and Farah standing before me.

"You collected some blood from the – from a warehouse?" Nat asks, a small frown on her brow.

I glance down at my phone, then back up at the pair of agents. "You heard my conversation?"

Farah arches a brow. "We have special-"

"Training," Nat finishes.

"Yeah," I reply. "I had a run-in with some strangers up at a potential murder site. One of them was injured, so I managed to collect a blood sample." I frown at Nat's reaction; the colour drains from her face and she swallows hard. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," she replies, though she still flicks a worried glance at Farah. "But I can't see how this information helps our case."

"It might not seem useful now," I reply. "But you never know when it suddenly may."

Nat only tenses further, Farah also seeming less than enthusiastic about the possible new lead. I brush off their odd reactions, too confused by all of this to think on it further.

"You're right," Nat says eventually, "Maybe we would be better off discussing all we know back at the station?"

I give a nod. "See you there, then."

I eye them for a moment longer before turning back down the street towards my car.

**. . .**

Back in my office, Nat is kind enough to make us some drinks while we wait for the rest of her team to return. Finally, with the kettle fixed, I can have the caffeine my body needs. I gulp a mouthful of the hot liquid and sigh. Then I notice Nat is sipping at a mug of milky tea, "Not a fan of coffee?" I ask.

She smiles, placing her cup on a coaster on my desk. "I like it; I just prefer tea."

"Tea. Coffee. It's all gross if you ask me," Farah mutters, her nose wrinkling as she slides the mug away.

With my attempt at small talk over, our conversation return to the case. "Maybe it would be good to investigate the Farris Warehouse again," I say, voicing my thoughts aloud. I'm not exactly overly keen to return there after what happened last time, but at least now I can be more prepared.

Nat leans forward in her chair, resting her forearms on her thighs. "If you'd like, I can go with the rest of my team later."

I smile at her and give a nod. "Good idea; I can go with you."

She holds up a hand and gives an apologetic half-smile. "Actually, I was hoping we could go alone."

I narrow my eyes at her a little, leaning back in my chair.

"I only want to acquaint myself with the area," she replies at my obvious suspicion. She then leans away from Farah and lower her voice. "...And have the chance to peak with my team about how best to work with the others."

I give a resigned sigh. "All right." The niggles of anxiety that knotted my stomach settle somewhat. Might as well take advantage of having the extra people around for task like this.

"Are you certain you don't mind?" she asks, concern in her tone, and her dark brown eyes settling on mine. "You did make your objection quite clear earlier about us going about town on our own."

"'Crashing' about town on our own," Farah corrects her.

"Yeah, it's fine," Working with a team wasn't exactly what I wanted for my first case, nut seeing as we have to, hopefully she really will manage to talk some sense into her team. Then we can all just get on with the case.

"At least you asked rather than demanded. I only object to over-bearing, egotistical – oh Ava, hello!" My voice cracks and I almost spill my drink down my front. Farah grins at my blundered attempt to cover my insult.

Nat looks over her shoulder to the doorway where the rest of the team are entering. "Any luck out and about?"

"It yielded little," Ava replies. I shift in my seat as her gaze flickers my way.

"Well, the detective and I have been speaking, and he suggested we check out one of the warehouses on the edge of town." Nat stands from her chair, moving closer to the group. "He had an incident there with some possible suspects."

Ava's gaze shoots to Nat so fast I'm surprised she doesn't topple over. "And he agreed?" I roll my eyes, sinking further into my chair and keeping my comments to myself, even more so when I see Farah smiling widely in the chair in front of my desk.

"Come on," Nat says, her tone light. "We better get going before the sun sets." She glances back at me, giving an appreciative nod. "See you tomorrow, Detective. It was good working with you today." She offers a smile along with the nod.

I lean onto my desk on my elbows, grinning at her. "Yes, I very much look forward to seeing you tomorrow."

She pauses for a moment, her gaze flickering over my open expression.

It's not until Ava gestures for the group to go Nat glances away to join the others, who all head out of my office at the same time.

I watch them leave the station; the exact moment they do, Tina pops her head around my door. "What was that?" she asks, her eyes shimmering.

I shift a couple of papers on my desk. "Nothing."

She shuffles into the room, her curls bouncing around her face as she comes to perch herself on the edge of my desk besides me. "Uh, I'm sorry, but four people who look like that in your office is not nothing."

"They work for the government," I tell her, glancing up at her. "I think that makes them off-limits. Probably worried about compromising their mission."

"I wouldn't mind compromising them..."

"Tina!" I reprimand, but can't help but chuckle.

"What?" she asks, her expression one of feigned innocence. She spread her hands out wide in front of her as she slides down into the chair beside my desk. "You can't blame me for thinking it. I mean, did you see them?"

"Yes, I saw them," I reply, still chuckling.

"At least that's a start I suppose," she says, pouting her lips. "When was the least time you even thought about spending some time on your love life?"

"Hey," I protest, "I date all the time."

"Yeah, you date," she says, cocking her head at me. "But what about going further than just the dates?"

"I'm not sure about the whole getting deeper thing..." I reply, half-joking, but a seriousness works its way into my words.

She stands from her place and smile so genuinely it makes her eyes crinkle. "You're a detective now, Ryan. You've reached pretty high in your career. You're allowed to enjoy the rest of your life too, you know."

I purse my lips. Then I tap a few keys on the computer so that the monitor flashes to life, unsure how to respond to Tina.

"You're a strong, independent man," she continues, and I flicker my gaze over the top of my screen to meet hers. "You deserve a strong, independent person at your side." Another smile curves her lips. "And it wouldn't hurt if they were easy on the eyes, right?"

I finally crack out a grin. "All right, I get your point! But this murder takes priority right now."

"Oh, that reminds me," she says, pausing on her way out. "I came in here to tell you I found out who the victim was."

A heaviness hits me like a brick to my chest. "Who was she?"

"Janet Greenland," Tina says her brows shifting into sympathy. "Poor girl. She was an engineer. She was here looking for a place to rent, trying to get away from the crime of the big city. Kind of ironic, isn't it."

She turns and leaves, a sombre air having fallen over my office at the news. I turn mu focus back to my computer, hoping I might be able to figure out what to do next.


	5. Chapter Four

**First Blood**

**Chapter Four: Wake Up Call**

**. . .**

**W**hat should have been a lovely early spring morning is dampened by a grey sky flecked with dark storm clouds; a mist of rain hangs in the air. The sun seems to be trying its best, but its morning rays barely it past the barrier of cloud.

I shake myself off as I step inside the station, the moisture sinking into my coat. _At least I don't have to wear a uniform any more._.. That itchy material soaked up rain like a sponge.

Wearing what I like is certainly a major perk of the job. I usually wear pressed trousers with a crisp, clean shirt and a blazer over the top. Just because I'm out of uniform doesn't mean I shouldn't dress smartly.

I yank off my coat and head to my office, being the first one in as usual.

Or at least, so I thought. I pause in the doorway to find Unit Bravo already gathered inside, strewn about the room in the same position they'd taken up the day before.

Nat smiles in greeting as I enter. "Good morning, Detective."

After hanging up my coat, I simply nod at the group and move towards my desk.

"Not a morning person, Detective?" Farah asks, a sudden grin forming on her face. "Don't worry; neither are we." Nat lets out a heavy sigh in the chair next to her.

Ignoring the banter, I take a seat. "Did you find anything at the warehouse?"

Nat shifts forward in her seat. "Well, we thought-"

"No," Ava's strong reply cuts through whatever Nat had been about to say. Nat's head whips around to face her leader, a frown creasing her dark brows together.

I watch the odd, silent exchange pass between the pair. Uncertainty tugs at me; the question was not exactly hard to answer. My attention flickers to Farah, noticing the gleeful smile quivering at the corners of her lips as she watches her colleagues glares at each other.

I only return my focus to them when Nat turns away from Ava and sinks deeper into her seat. "As Ava said, we didn't find anything."

I fold my arms across my chest, flicking my gaze between the two before dropping it to the papers on my desk. _Something was definitely weird about that exchange._.. Whether it was just egos clashing or something more, I'm not sure.

I purse my lips, pushing the thought to the back of my mind. For now, I have to keep focused on the case... which will be more difficult if they're hiding things.

"Well, we still need to find the actual murder site. She definitely wasn't killed where she was found," I say. "Was it the same with the other murders he's committed?"

"Yes," Nat replies, this time not interrupted by her brooding leader. Ava is once more staring out the window.

I let out a long breath, looking down at my notepad; it is painfully empty of clues or notes. "Were any of the victims from the same location?"

A throaty, slightly condescending laugh erupts from Morgan. "Their locations meant nothing." Once again, her words are soften by an accent I can't place. Maybe hearing it more would help me narrow it down, but the idea of striking up a conversation with the woman now glaring at me through a wall of smoke makes me glare back.

I lean further forward on my desk, holding her glare without wavering. She drags in a breath of smoke and lets it out in curling stream, holding my stare without a flinch.

Our focus is pulled back to the room as Nat speaks again.

"The previous victims came from all over," Nat explains.

"That's an understatement," Farah replies. "We're talking worldwide." She spreads her arms out in emphasis.

I frown at the revelation. "Someone who goes to that extreme must have a reason. Nobody would travel that much just to kill random people."

"A good point, Detective," Nat comments before throwing a stare Ava, who completely ignores it.

Farah suddenly gives a chuckle, seeming to be lost in thought. "At least it's meant we've gotten to got to some interesting places in search of him. Remember Alaska?"

She chortles. "Morgan did not do well in the cold." The comment receives a grumble from Morgan in the corner. "But there weren't as many humans in Alaska, so that helped cheer her up a little."

"Not many humans?" I ask, cocking my head to one side at the strange word choice.

A heavy quiet descends over the room, broken only by Farah letting out a strained chuckle. "Oh, you know, not many people, heh..." She throws a sheepish look at Ava, whose features are furrowed into a tight knot.

A knock from the door makes us all look up find Tina standing in the doorway. A worried frown lines her face, her shoulders hunched. My thoughts of the conversation are quickly pushed away by concern.

"Hey, Ryan cam I talk to you for a moment?" she asks, clutching the door to keep her balance.

I give a nod. Something is obviously wrong.

Standing from my place, I glance back over the group before moving out of the office and shutting the door.

I follow Tina to the front desk, where she leans heavily against the counter and runs her fingers through her curled hair. We're alone, since Douglas usually doesn't arrive until, well whenever he feels like it.

"Kate Hayes rang the station this morning, worried for Garret," Tina explains, biting at her bottom lip.

"Her son?" I ask in surprise. Kate, being the only dentist in town, is usually run off her feet. To help her out, Garret had often spent his time after school at the station until she can collect him. Usually, it's Tina who keeps him company – helping him with his homework or teaching him the ropes. From the little I have interacted with him, he seems sensible and nice enough.

"He didn't come home last night. What if something happened...?" Tina flicks her worried gaze up to meet mine, her voice choking in her throat. "With a psycho running around town-"

I place my hands on her arms and meet her eye. "We'll find him, Tina. Don't worry."

She attempts a smile, but it doesn't really work. "I just hate the idea of him there alone with a killer on the loose."

"I know; so do I."

This time she does brighten a little. "Thank you, Ryan."

We both flinch as the phone on the desk gives a shrill ring.

Tina lets out a sudden relieved breath at the sound. "Oh, it must be Kate. She said she's ring back as soon as Garret turned up." She reaches for the phone. I turn away, thankful the situation is resolved before it became something much worse.

Heading back to my office, I shake my head, staring at the ground. _With what's happened, it's no wonder this town is on high alert over every small thing._

My thoughts come to an abrupt halt as someone comes storming out of the doorway of my office and crashes into me. We both stumble back, and it feels more like I collided with a brick wall than a person.

Regaining my balance, I glance over, finding Ava staring at me in genuine surprise.

She quickly straightens herself out. "I apologise. I wasn't paying attention."

"Wow," I blurt out, brushing my pressed shirt from the impact. "We should put you in the armoury as a battering ram." I give a light chuckle, though it seems to fall short again.

Silence soon falls once again. I shift slightly beneath the awkwardness of it.

Ava turns to avoid my gaze, her focus shifting to look over the station. I arch a brow when her nose wrinkles, as though smelling something unpleasant.

"You really don't want to be here, do you?" It's a moment before I realise I spoke the question aloud.

She's quick to reply. "We're here, so it's more a question of dealing with it, rather than liking it."

"You know," I begin, half-smiling, "It's not so bad here. Maybe it'll grow on you."

"Like a tumour, you mean?"

I frown at her reply, though when I glance at her, I find she's actually. Suddenly, I can't tell wheather she's mocking me or joking with me.

The thought is ripped from my mind when there's a sudden clatter at the front desk. "Uh, Ryan?" Tina calls. I turn.

Her normally rosy skin has paled to a ghosty white, the phone gripped tightly in her hand. "There's been another murder."


	6. Chapter Five

**First Blood**

**Chapter Five: Mother and Son**

**. . . **

**W**e all travel to the crime scene in the centre of town separately. Whatever government vehicle Unit Bravo uses must have sped through the streets, because they arrive well before me and I didn't exactly drive slow.

I park my car near the police barrier – there are thankfully no crowds this – and move down the alley to join the others, who are already looking over the victim. The street is so narrow, the walls looming so high, that even the remnants of morning sun can't pierce through the deep shadows.

"Poor kid," Farah says, shaking her head.

I shove my hands into my coat pockets, my throat constricting slightly at the sight. It's a male teenager crumpled in a heap at the edge of the dank alleyway, his face hidden.

Tina, having left before us to secure the scene, approaches. "It's..." She takes a shaky breath. "It's Garret Hayes."

My shoulders sags. "Shit."

"Yeah," Tina says, biting her lips as it trembles. "Just find who did this."

I frown in uncertainty, but give as much of nod as I can manage. "What details do we have?"

She glances at her notepad. "Nothing much. A road cleaner spotted him early this morning." She takes a shuddering breath. "The forensic team won't be here for a while, since they have travel back from the city." And with one last look at Garret, she turns slowly and slouches away.

Farah follows Tina's retreat with a cocked eyebrow. "Quite the woman, that one."

Nat swipes her round the back of the head. "You;re standing at a murder scene. Show some respect."

"We haven't had a murder in Wayhaven for decades, and now we have two?" I ask the question more to myself than the others.

"We better get on. The crowds will be here before you know it. I don't want to be fending off their questions while trying to find anything from the scene."

"I agree, Detective," Ava says, to which everyone in the alley turns to stare in amazement at her. She simply brushes off the sudden attention.

"Okay then..." Farah says, a small chuckle in her words.

"Are we sure it's the same killer?" Ava asks.

"Yeah, it's definitely him," Morgan says.

I twist around to look at her. "What? How can you know that?"

Her lips sharpen into a log smirk, reminding me too much of a wolf to be comfortable. I shift on the spot to avoid taking an instinctive step back. "A hunch?" she offers.

I ignore the statement, all of us once again returning our attention to the boy folded into one corner. His black coat is bunched up around his neck.

"The killer must have used the collar of his coat to drag him down here," I suggest. The fabric is pulled out shape.

I crouch down to study it closer, my nose wrinkling at the putrid smell of trash from the overflowing bins only a few feet away. Using a pen, I lean forwards to push the collar out of the way a little, the material stiff against my attempts.

"Wait, Detective, don't-"

But Nat's warning comes too late. The coat shifts position. The boy's head suddenly lolls to one side, his neck exposed.

The skin is completely shredded, any of it remaining stained dark with blood. Muscles and tissue have been ripped away from bone, protruding from the jagged gash in a sickening display.

The mangled sight of it takes a moment to process before I can react.

I grimace at the horrific sight, curling my hand over my mouth. "That's just all kinds of wrong..." I mutter, attempting to look away but knowing the memory is burned into my mind.

I glance over at the rest of the group. None of them seem as surprised at this discovery as I am. "Have you seen this before?" I ask, taking a deep breath to maintain my composure.

"Not exactly, but-" Nat begins, to which Ava throws her a sharp stare. Nat thins her lips for a moment. "No."

I glance back at the victim, paying closer attention to the wound. "I don't know of any weapon that could have done that." Whoever killed him hadn't just slit the boy's throat, they'd torn it open.

_Things like this just don't happen in Wayhaven_! I ball my fists in my pockets, stepping away from the body and giving a defeated sigh.

"Ryan," Tina calls, all of us spinning around to face her. "The forensics team is here, and..." She trails off. "His mother still needs to be notified."

My stomach sinks at the realisation. "Right."

Tina heads to where a couple of pristinely-clean silver vans have drawn up. Several technicians in white suits step out. The bustle of activity from the techs shatters the simbre silence that had fallen over the scene.

"Well..." I purse my lips. "I suppose I better go deliver the news. I'll meet you guys back at the station." I turn to head away, my steps heavy, resisting the idea of what I have to do next.

"You're not going alone," Ava calls, making me pause mid-step.

I round on her, my teeth gritted. "Excuse me?"

"One of us is going with you," she says, her stern voice only making my annoyance grow. "The rest of us have to check in with Agent Blake."

"Cause that tone's really gonna make him open to suggestions," Farah says. She slaps Ava on the back, who throws her a stern glare.

"Wow," I begin, turning fully to face Ava. "How nice to know you're worried about me." The sarcasm drips from my words, making her gaze narrow.

She takes a wide step closer. "I merely thought you'd appreciate backup, Detective. There is a killer on the loose, after all." Amazingly, she actually sounds partly sincere.

I glare at her, even though I can't exactly deny the truth in her words. The killer murdered Garret, so he may go after Kate too. In that situation, going solo might not be the best.

It helps to try and remember this is about finding a murderer, not personal feelings - but that's a hard task in this moment. "Would you mind coming along Nat?" I ask. "I think it's going yo be pretty delicate situation." _And you seem the best at those from what I've seen._ I keep that thought to myself.

Nat hives an understanding smile. "Of course."

"By the time we're done, Verda will probably have some results for us, so we can meet back at the station," I say.

Ava gives a stiff nod. "We'll report back to Agent Blake in the meantime."

With that decided, the group splits in separate directions: Nat and I going one way and the others heading further down the alley.

**. . .**

**T**he victim's mother, Kate Hayes, lives in one of the small groups of houses at the edge of town. Ringed by a barrier of forest in one direction and a manicured community green on the other, it's rather idyllic.

Yet the normally bright-white houses appear grey in the shadow of the day, heavy clouds obscuring whatever sun there might be. The trees usually plump with lush green foliage, are bare and stark, clawing at the house as they shiver in the chill breeze, Even the usual cheerful bird song has gone silent.

Pulling up outside of Kate's house, I stare at the blue-painted door for a moment.

"Is this your first time delivering this kind of news?" Nat asks softly from the passenger seat, making me flinch out of my thoughts.

"No," I reply. "I've done it before. I just... never wanted to have to do it again. And those were for natural deaths, not murder victims."

"I can understand that," she says. "Remember that although it'll be painful for her now, it's better than not knowing."

"I guess you're right." I rub a hand over my face. "We better get on with it."

Nat looks relieved as we move to get out. She'd struggled with the compact size of the cat, her long legs having been practically crammed up near her chin the entire ride over.

She shoves open the door, pouring herself out and stretching as soon as her feet hot the pavement, like a cat unfurling from a long nap. I begin walk up the front path, only to pause when Nat calls me, her hand coming to rest gently on my shoulder.

I turn on the spot to face her.

She pulls her hand back, letting it fall to her side. "I'm right here if you need me."

"Thanks," I reply, not able to really think of anything else. My mind is focused on the task ahead. We turn back to face the door, the sky-blue paint as inviting in that moment as it should be. It swings open before I even have a chance to knock.

Kate stands in the doorway, her porcelain skin dulled and dark circles shadowing beneath her eyes. She is normally petite, but today she looks minuscule, her body sagging and her long, red hair dripping over her drooped shoulders.

"Detective Blake?" she croaks.

"Hello, Kate," I reply, keeping my voice steady.

"What are you doing... here...?" Her voice trails off, her eyes widening in horrified, realisation. "That murder this morning... no." She shakes her head, the simple words hanging heavy in the air. "No! I don't believe it. No!"

She cries out, wailing sinking to the floor and screaming out her sudden grief. The hollow sound of it is enough to wrench against even the coldest heart.

I fall to my knees beside the hunch woman, wrapping my arms around her in an attempt to offer even the slightest bit of comfort. "Oh, Kate, I'm so sorry."

She doesn't reply, instead clinging to me and sobbing into my shoulder. It takes all my remaining energy just to continue to listen to her heart shattering without breaking down into sobs myself.

We manage to help Kate into the living room. She slumps onto the soda, staring blankly at the coffee table.

The cream walls feel constricting; the happy smiles of Garret in the photos dotted about the room seem to stare at me in accusation. I fidget on the plush soda, trying to breath in shallow breaths to avoid the disinfectant smell emanating from her home dental practice on the floor above.

"Here you are," Nat says softly, placing a steaming cup of tea in front of Kate.

She flicks her wide-eyed gaze to her, attempting a 'thank you' through her hoarse throat. Nat moves to take the seat on the soda beside me, a hushed quiet falling over us all.

"I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you some questions," I say, pulling my notepad from my belt.

Kate nods, wrapping her shaking fingers around the mug but not taking a sip. "I... understand."

I shift forward a little. "Where was Garret supposed to be last night?"

"I think..." She frowns deeply, taking a ragged breath. "He was supposed to be staying with a friend. Studying."

"We'll need to know the name of the friend and any others," Nat adds, to which she nods.

Gripping my pen tighter, I look at her. "Had Garret been acting out of character at all lately?"

"No, not at all," she splutters. "I know... I know I should have been around more for him. But work-"

Nat shakes her head. "This is not your fault, Mrs Hayes." She leans back at her words though her grasp still tighten around her mug.

Kate's lips suddenly tremble, seeming to have forgotten the questions. "He was such a good boy. You know that, Ryan." Her words are lost in a wave of tears once again.

I realise we're probably going to get little else out of her today.

Nat suddenly stands from her place, moving from the soda to sit beside Kate. She then rests her hand carefully over hers. "It's all right, Mrs. Hayes. You'll get through this." The voice she uses is so soothing I think even I would feel at ease if I were greving.

Then the oddest thing happens: Kate's whole demeanour sifts. Instead of the broken woman from a moment before, she sits straighter. There's an understanding smile on her pale face, which now return to some colour.

It's as though someone waved a magic wand and took the grief from her.

She flicks her hardened gaze to meet mine. "I want you to fond the son of a bitch who did this to my boy, Ryan."

I baulk at the sudden dramatic change, eventually blinking out of my surprise to reply. "You have my word. I'll find them." Making promises like that may not be the most sensible thing to do, but I feel resolute in this one.

Kate gives a grateful smile, also turning her thankful gaze to Nat. Her hand is till hers.

"Is there anyone we can call for you?" Nat asks in response to the woman's attention.

She shakes her head. "No, it was just me and Garret."

I stand from my place, clipping my pad back on my belt. "All right, Kate, get in touch with us whenever you need to or if you remember something. I'll send Tina around later to check on you. She might have more questions then."

"Thank you," she replies.

Nat stands as well, her hand leaving Kate's. As soon as she steps away from the sofa, I frown, watching as Kate curls back in herself, her eyes misting over and a tea falling free. Whatever moment of clear thought she'd had is apparently drowned by grief once again.

We leave the house, and I swallow hard as I shut the door on the echoes of Kate's pained cries.

Heading back to the car, Nat turns and rest against it, folding her arms and sighing. "That was... tough," she says, sounding a little defeated.

"I didn't expect it to be easy," I reply, resting against the car as well. The metal is cold, the air turning chill under the heavy grey sky above.

Wind rustles through the trees as I stare through the window of the house. Kate is still curled into the armchair in the front room, crying into her hands.

I snap my focus away with a frown.

I push myself up, shaking my head, "I need to catch this guy before I have to tell another mother her child is dead."

"We need to catch this guy," Nat corrects me. "My team hasn't caught this guy yet either, and that needs to be rectified. Soon."

I give a sharp nod of agreement. "Let's get going." I slide in the diver's side, Nat walking around to fold herself back into the passenger seat.

Inside, I grip the steering wheel; the car groans to life as I turn the key. I glance over at Nat, the woman shifting awkwardly in the seat.

"Well, in my training, they didn't teach me how to deal with grief-stricken mothers the way you just did," I say, letting the car warm for a moment before leaving.

Nat pauses in her fidgeting to stare at me with brows raised. "Pardon?"

"The way you calmed down Kate." I gesture towards the house.

Her brows shift from surprise to a frown of uncertainty. "Oh, well... it's been something I've been able to do for a long time. A talent, I suppose. But able to calm people."

"A handy skill to have," I reply.

"Thanks." She gives a chuckle, one I join in with.

**. . .**

**T**hankful to get away from thoughts of what just happened, we head back to meet the others. When we arrive, we find Ava already waiting inside the foyer of the station.

"How did it go?" she asks as soon as we push open the glass doors, the question directed more at Nat than me.

Nat shakes her head then gives a heavy shrug. "About as well as you'd expect."

I try to stifle my surprise when expression softens, true concern lining her elegant face. She places a comforting hand on Nat's arm.

"Let's just catch him," Nat says in response to team leader's worry.

Snapping mu gaze away – trying not to make it too obvious I'd been watching the tender moment – I move further into the station, heading to the basement lab. The two of them follow after me.

Garret Hayes lays spread on the cold, stark metal table, his already pale skin made white beneath the intense light hanging above. A simple cloth covers him. Only his head and shoulders show, along with the wound savagely torn across his neck.

Now that it's fully exposed, I have a hard time not recoiling from the macabre sight, though I manage to steady myself. Images of the boy's heartbroken mother flash into my mind with the force of a tidal wave.

The memories flood over me and I stumble a little, taking a ragged breath to keep the emotion from overwhelming me. _This shouldn't have happened to him._

Verda swings around on his seat at the other end of the room, standing and coming towards us.

He eyes both of the agents flanking me, his brows raised in surprise. "I'd heard from Tina you were working with your mother's team, Detective."

"Verda, this is Ava and Nat," I introduced them, gesturing to the agents in turn.

Nat stretches out a hand in greeting, which Verda instantly takes. "Nice meet you, Dr. Verda."

"Likewise," Verda replies, a smile flickering at the corner of his mouth. He then turns to Ava, who stiffens at the offered hand, apparently as hesitant to shake Verda's hand as she'd been to take mine.

Eventually, she does. "I would like to keep things as professiobal as possible. Agent du Mortain would be preferable."

I watch as Verda tries to hide a grin at Ava's still formality. The doctor regains his composure and offers a nod of under standing. "Of course, Agent."

"Have you found anything yet?" I ask, turning the focus back to the case.

Verda glances at the boy, his face pinching into sympathy for a moment, then turns to retrieve a test tube. A long cotton swab rests inside, the bottom flecked with red.

"I haven't had time to do an autopsy yet, but I did find blood under his fingernails. Seems he managed to take away a bit of his killer."

Ava frowns, lifting the sheet a little to examine the victim's arm laying limply on the table. "I see no defensive marks."

"Although it's difficult to imagine the boy let the killer rip his throat out, Agent du Mortain is correct. It doesn't look like Garret put up much of a fight." Verda gives a solemn nod, continuing, "I don't think the blood beneath his fingernails was defensive, more accidental. His fingertips have bruising on them, as though he grabbed onto something very tightly."

"His killer," I answer, to which Verda gives a shrug.

"That would be my guess." He swings around, placing down the test tube and picking up some glass slides. A distilled blob of blood strains each surface. "What's even more interesting, though, is that – once again -the blood matches what you found at the warehouse and what was discovered in the first victim."

I sigh, not sure I can handle the amount of weirdness being piled onto this case.

Verda places down the slides, turning back to face us. "If it is the same killer, then this is a much different method. The first victim died due to an attempted blood transfusion, as far as I can tell."

"How would a blood transfusion kill her?" I ask, standing back a little. "Don't people have blood transfusions all the time?"

"Yes and no," Verda replies, placing a hand on his chin. "Normal blood transfusion in hospital patients are fine, but my guess is someone attempted to completely drain all of her blood out of her body and replace it with something else."

From the grimace on his face, I assume that's a bad thing.

"The pain would have been," - the pathologist frowns, sympathy heavy on his brow - "excruciating. In the end, her organs would shut down, and death would have followed. But there is no evidence of that with this victim."

"Could the killer have tied him down, like with first victim?"

"I don't think so. There's no evidence of it, not even marks of hand prints."

I run a hand over my neck, staring at the victim with a frown. "There has to be something we're missing. All we have to go is the blood, which so far is getting us nowhere." My focus falls on the two agents standing either side of me, both stiff and unmoving. "You've both been very quiet. Anything to add?"

Nat seems startled out of her thoughts, glancing between me and Verda. "Was there saliva around the wound?"

Verda's brows shoot up. "Yes. Good guess."

Ava's lips tighten into a thin line. "Yes. It was." She says the words through gritted teeth, apparently disapproving of Nat's odd question.

"I guess you were thinking it might be an animal attack. I was thinking the same thing, yet..." Verda's words trail off. He seems to be lost in thought.

"Animals attack out of fear or need," he says finally. "They don't intentionally inflict damage like this. It's as though whatever killed him made one wound to kill him, then ripped the throat out in spite. Plus, the lack of blood is strange for an animal attack."

Placing a hand on his chin, he purse his full lips. "We had a case like this in the city once. Some occult-obsessed group decided consuming human blood would be a good idea, so they killed people in order to try it out."

"How did that end?" Nat asks, passing a steady glance over to Ava.

"Most died of disease from one of their victims. It's how we eventually caught them." The reply seems to make the two agent relax a little.

Verda suddenly whips around, grabbing up a sheet of paper. "But getting back to our case, there's also the fact the boy's dopamine levels were well above normal range."

"Dopamine?" Ava asks.

"It's a neurotransmitter," I reply. "It tell our brain we'll be rewarded – that whatever we are thinking of doing will bring pleasure."

The room falls silence, and I glance up to find them all staring at me in surprise.

"That's right," Verda replies. I can't help but give a little smile of triumph at the pride in his tone, and also the shocked faces of the agents. "It's often thought of as happy hormone."

I stare down at Garret once again. "Do you think he was on drugs, or someone gave him drugs, for the dopamine to be that high?"

"Not that I can tell," Verda replies, placing down the paper and sighing heavily. "I won't be able to confirm, or know much of anything else until get the test results back."

"When will that be?" Nat asks, her shoulders relaxing a little.

I glance at her. "A while."

Verda stands from his place an moves back to his desk. "The hospital doesn't exactly like the fact it has to help our department, so they can take a while. I also heard they recently got a new blood technician, so I imagine things will take even longer."

The cold of the room is really beginning to seep through my clothes, and I wrap my arms about myself to stave off the chill. "I doubt there's much else we can learn until Verda's done the autopsy," I say, to which the doctor gives a nod of confirmation.

"I guess we'll leave you to..." I glance down at Garret's lifeless body with a grimace. "...Your patient."

Verda chuckles. "Let's hope my waiting room doesn't fill up any further."

"Yeah," I reply, though not in as light a tone as I'd intended.

After that, I head out of the room, once again followed by the two very quiet agents on either side of me. We head up the stairs to the warmer station above, and I can't help thinking how eerily it feels like passing from the Underworld back into the land of the living.

The station is pretty empty, as usual; only Douglas is here, sitting slouched in his chair at the front desk, eating. The sweet smell of muffins permeates the entire building. I try to ignore the pangs of hunger that tighten my stomach, only now realising I haven't eaten since this morning.

The group of us win our way between the few open cubicles and towards my office, where I can see Farah and Morgan inside.

I take one step into the room before my attention snaps to the corner of my desk. It's covered in silver duct tape, though I can see chunks of wood splintered away, jutting out from under the tape.

I stare at the damaged corner of the desk for a while longer. "Is that somebody's attempt at mordern art?" I ask, gesturing to it. "Because it kinda sucks."

Farah splutters a laugh, turning to look over mu shoulder at Ava.

"I apologise, Detective," the team leader says from behind, making me spin around to face her. "It was my fault into it by accident."

"You knocked into it and managed to take a corner off?" My arms drop back to mu sides in surprise, and I can't help but wonder how big of a bruise she must have.

Her lips twitch for a moment. "I will pay for the repairs." She moves past me, obviously putting an end to that conversation.

I shake my head, then move around my injured desk and take my seat. The familiarity of it is comforting, and mu shoulders unknot a little as I lean back.

The room falls quiet. I stare at my desk in thought. So much has happened so quickly, I've barely had a chance to keep on top of this case at all.

"So, what happens now?" Morgan asks from from her place, still partly hidden by the filing cabinet.

I'm amazed when they all turn to look at me for a response. How to proceed in this case has apparently fallen to me.

"We need to go over every piece of evidence we have," I say, frowning in thought. "There isn't much, but it's possible we've missed something because we haven't been looking at the big picture."

Ava folds arms. "I suppose that's as sensible a course of action as any other at this point." There's a tinge of sarcasm to her words, but I ignore it, already thinking of the task ahead.

**. . .**

**T**he evidence provides nothing in fresh clues or leads to follow. In fact, the lack of evidence is what stand out the most after examining it all, even after the stuff from the big city is delivered back to us.

A couple of days or work produces little more than what we already knew before.

Tina has more luck than us in finding the owner of the anchor pin we found in the alley. She managed to gain information about a group of dock workers who protested about the recall of the pins – a loud protest. She continues trying to narrow down the search further, as the rest of us get back to focusing on the victims.

The experience has been interesting, getting to watch Unit Bravo work properly for the first time. The cohesiveness with which they work together is astounding, and I don't think I've ever seen better – not even back at the academy.

At times, I look up and watch Ava and Nat discuss a possible idea around the circular wooden table we just about managed to fit into my office to use as a communal work desk. The two barely talk in full sentences, each seeming to know what the other is going to say without actually speaking it.

Farah tends to stick outside of the group, fetching things or suggesting outlandish ideas which – in all fairness – the others do consider before dismissing. Even Morgan joins in, clarifying certain things about evidence or checking files for confirmation about ideas.

For a long while, I keep mostly to myself unsure of how to integrate into the obviously tight-knit, well-organised team. But today, I find myself drawn into conversation.

Flashing my gaze over my computer monitor, I let out a heavy sigh to see my email inbox still stark and empty. Nat's gaze onto me, apparently hearing my disappointment. "Something wrong, Detective?"

"I was hoping for the blood test result by now," I reply, leaning back and pushing away the file on my desk. I've reread it about fifty times already.

"They're still not here?" Farah asks with a genuine frown of confusion. "We should have gotten the Agency to do it."

"How quickly do you normally get results back?" I ask, pursing my lips.

"Within the hour, for most of them," Ava replies nonchalantly, not looking up from the papers on the desk.

I almost fall out of my chair. An hour! I barely get replies from Tina within an hour, and she's only in the next room. My brows don't come down from the shock, and I shake my head in disbelief. "Your bosses must have made a deal with the devil for that fast a process."

"Probably not far off..." Farah mutters as she stares down at an open file in her lap.

Ava shoots her a glare, one the young agent pointedly ignores – expect for the small flicker of an amused smile.

"It is strange adjusting to how small town procedures work. The Agency is focused on what agent need, so it's unusual for us to have to wait for evidence or test results. But I'm sure your hospital is doing the best they can." Nat smiles, the encouraging words genuine.

I glance away, wondering if now is the best time to tell them that the hospital is about as hospitable as a stubborn rhino. It was once the mayor's committee renovation project, but it was left behind when his focus switched to the police station after Douglas joined.

The mayor's attention (and, more importantly, funds) started piling onto the station instead – an insult the hospital never lets us forget. Small town politics at it finest.

Thankfully, I don't have to decide whether to tell them as Nat calls to me again. "Detective?"

I glance up, a brow arched. "Yeah?"

"Mind if we get your opinion on something?" she asks, Ava shifting uneasily beside her. "It seems we're at an impasse, neither if us agreeing with the other." She gives a light chuckle, the first cheerful sound in the office for the past couple of days.

Smiling, I push myself out of my chair to head towards them. "Of course. I'd be more than happy to help."

"Thank you," Nat replies, a smile on her lips.

I barely make the two steps to the table before a knock raps at the door. We all glance at it. Tina peers around the door frame, throwing a polite smile at the group.

"Uh, Ryan," she says, her voice a little tense. "The mayor's on the phone for you."

Not exactly something I'd been hoping to hear. I take a deep breath and give a nod.

"Sorry, go on without me," I say to the group before following Tina out into the station and toward the front desk.

The afternoon sun blares unobstructed through the glass windows that make up the walls of the station. I blink against the intense light. _Afternoon? I didn't even realise._ Apparently it's easy to lose track of time when you're desperate to find any new evidence in a pile full of unless information.

Tina holds the phone out towards me, throwing me a sympathetic smile as she does. Dealing with the mayor is never exactly easy. All I can do is hope he's been golfing and it's put him in a good mood. _Or had one of those liquid lunches he enjoys so much._

At least it's Douglas' day off. Don't think I could handle speaking to the mayor with his son listening to every word.

I grasp the receiver, push it up to my ear "Ah, Mayor," I say, my tone as charming as I can make it, but retaining the sarcasm that wants to spill in too. "It's always such a delight."

"You can keep your sass to yourself!" he snarls down the phone in return. "Unless you want to see just how well that tone works on the public. They're in such a panic I can't get them to stop calling me!"

I frown, staring at the phone for a moment before replacing it back to my ear. "Panic? People didn't seem too disturbed the past few days as we've been-"

"Well, maybe that was before that damn reporter decided to make a mockery of your investigation!"

My hand clamps around the phone tighter. "...What?"

Tina, apparently hearing ever delightful word the mayor has spoken through the phone, slides the local (and only) newspaper in town, the _Wayhaven Press,_ along the desk in front of me.

Bold black words sit stark against the white paper on the front page. My stomach sinks as I read.

"**POLICE STUMPED BY LACK OF EVIDENCE ON MURDERS!"**

The headline reads. "Can they protect us with so few clues? Killer remains at large while they fumble for leads! Read more inside." I read the byline aloud, "Written by Roberta Marks." I mutter.

Grabbing up the paper closer, my brows arch. "Hey, look, there's more inside."

"Detective!" the mayor yells, loud enough to make me yank the receiver away from my ear.

Balancing the phone beneath my chin, I punch the paper into a ball and chuck it into the bin. "Look, I'll deal with Bobby-"

"I will be dealing with that so-called reporter!" he interrupts. "You will be out patrolling tonight and showing the town you're on top of this."

"I don't think me patrolling is going to help this investigation along."

"Well, too bad, Detective." He snorts like a bull about to charge. "Rebecca- I mean Agent Blake – said you were up for this case. And if you're not, I will be passing it onto her more capable hands."

I purse my lips, not appreciating the threat, though know I'm in little position to do anything about it. "As you command, my lord." The sarcasm is on the edge of biting, but I don't care in this moment.

He slams down the phone so hard I flinch at the sound. I eventually place my phone back too.

I slouch forward on the counter and let out a groan. "How did Bobby even get the information?"

"I saw Doug chatting to her yesterday," Tina replies.

I stiffen, my eyes wide. "Are you kidding me? The mayor chewed me out over something his own son let happen?"

She shrugs, a small smile playing on her pink lips. "I'm guessing that's why he wanted to deal with Bobby himself."

I groan again.

"I'd offer to patrol with you tonight, like old times," Tina says, shifting back onto the tall stool behind the front desk with little issue. "But I'm stuck on desk duty all night."

"It's all right," I reply, forcing myself up and dragging my fingers over my hair. "I think I'll probably have enough backup."

We both turn to stare into my office, where Unit Bravo are still deep in investigation. If I've got to forgo sleep to go patrol, then they certainly aren't getting out of it.

Tina grins. "Now you're just trying to make me jealous." I shake my head and step away.

She places a hand on mine to make me pause. "You'll find the killer, don't worry. Everyone in the station has complete faith in you."

Glancing down at the ground, I try to ignore the encouraging, honest expression she offers with her words. "I just hope your faith in me isn't misplaced..." The words trail from my lips, half-muttered.

"Of course not!" she replies, "You should have more confidence in yourself. Now, go have your fun wandering around town. With four hot agents. In the dark."

I roll my eyes, though I crack a small smile as I move back towards my office.

As I step inside my office, the entire team shifts their focus to me, and I hesitate under the sudden attention.

"What did the mayor want?" Ava asks.

"To let me know that I'll be going on patrol tonight," I reply, slumping into my chair. The strain of the day presses on my shoulders, an ache setting down my back, but I force myself forwards.

"Patrol?" Farah asks, leaning forwards and resting her hands on my desk. "Like walking? Around town?"

I arch a brow. "That's usually what a patrol involves, yes."

Ava steps forward to stand imposingly in front of my desk, Farah shrinking away. "You can't-" she begins.

"We'll join you, Detective," Nat interrupts quickly, laying a hand on Ava's shoulder. "Five sets of eyes are going to be better than one."

Ava rolls her lips together before spinning away and moving to stare out of the window.

"At least I won't be the only one sleep-deprived tomorrow," I reply with a chuckle.

"I wouldn't be so sure about that," Ava mutters so quietly I barely catch it.

"A lot of good a patrol's gonna do," Morgan scoffs from her corner, the words framed by curls of cigarette smoke.

"Oh, I don't know," Farah says Morgan, slouching back into the chair. "It's been a while since I've been on a hunt."

Morgan pulls the cigarette out between tight lips. "But who will be hunting who?"

And with that not-at-all-terrifying question hanging around us, we all decide to meet up later that evening in the centre of town for the patrol.


	7. Chapter Six

**First Blood**

**Chapter Six: Patrol**

**. . . **

**T**he hours whittle away slowly. The sun casts its final rays over the rooftops before sinking down over the horizon to be replaced with cold darkness.

When my phone's alarm buzzes at eight, I jolt myself awake from dozing. _Not a great start for the evening a head._

I let out a breath of relief; at least I don't have to wait any longer. I'd spent most of the afternoon reading over things I already knew and writing down clues I've written a hundred times already, just waiting for the evening to arrive.

Standing, I glance about my office, heavily shadowed by the evening's gloom. It's strange for it to be so empty. So quiet.

_Guess I've kind of gotten used to having Unit Bravo around._

Shaking the thought away, I gather up my keys, gun, and badge, then head out of the office.

The shrill ring of my cellphone against the quiet makes me jump. I lift the phone from my pocket, Bobby's name emblazoned on the screen. The mayor did warn me off dealing with her.

I've never hit the reject button so fast. Not only do I not actually want to speak to Bobby, I can just imagine the mayor's reaction if he found out I'd talked to her... and it certainly wouldn't be pleasant.

Slipping the phone back into my pocket, I do up my jacket and make for the front of the station.

I wave a goodbye to Tina, shiver as I press my hand to the chill glass of the fron doors, then feel my phone vibrate again. The screen flashes with a new voice message.

_No guesses as to who that's from..._

Against my better judgement, I listen.

"Hello there, handsome." I shudder at the old pet name she used to call me, memories of long evening in college dredged up from the back of my mind for a moment. "I just had the most interesting conversation with the mayor."

The tense sound of her voice makes me half-smile, wondering just how much 'interesting' Seems he didn't appreciate my story, especially considering the source of the information. Guess it's time to find a new source, one the mayor can't hush up so easily."

She pauses, and I can hear the click of a pen being tapped against paper. "I'll be seeing you around, Ryan." She purrs my name and I grimace, quickly ending the message.

With Bobby's voice still rattling around my head, I shove the phone back into pocket, slam open the front doors, and head into the dark of the town.

**. . .**

**T**he journey to the square is never a long one, but tonight it's exceptionally quick – probably because this time there's no other traffic, or even people. I park outside Haley's Bakery and rattle the door handle of my car a little until it finally gives. Then I step out into the relatively well-lit, pretty street.

It smells cold, the chill hitting my nose and coating my throat, I cough as the cold reaches my chest, bundling my coat up a little tighter, I really hope springs arrives soon.

Footsteps make me spin around, and I let out a small sigh to see Unit Bravo emerge from a dark side street. They approach me.

"Is it always this quiet?" Farah asks, glancing about the Square with an almost bored expression. Classy shop front lie dark and dormant – no sign of life, not even from the apartments above.

"It's a quiet town," I reply, stepping towards them. "Though it being this quiet is pretty unusual."

"The murders probably frightened them enough to keep them indoors," Nat says. Not exactly a confidence-boosting statement as we're the only ones out here.

The antique clock above the town hall clicks eight thirty, and I let out a heavy sigh. "We'll patrol for a few hours, see how it goes, then head home."

"A sound plan," Nat replies with a nod of agreement.

"Here," Ava says, stepping closer, holding out a hand. A tiny black box sits on top her palm, no bigger than the top of my thumb. "It's an Agency radio." My brows quirk up as I look at the size of the thing. "We'll stick together as much as possible, but just in case..."

I shrug, figuring it's a sensible plan. Taking the radio, I clip it to the collar of my jacket. "How does it work?"

"Just press it with your finger," Nat explains.

After giving it a test and finding just how sensitive a piece of equipment it is, there's no more procrastinating. We head out. I can't help but feel a boost in confidence with the four agents flanking me as we walk.

**Two Hours Later**

"I can't remember the last time I just enjoyed a walk," Nat says suddenly, drawing in a deep breath and interrupting the tense silence that had hung around us all for the past couple of hours, Nerves are on edge – every shadow catching out attention and every movement making us pause.

"This isn;t supposed to be a stroll, Nat," Ava counters, though I notice a flicker of a smile on the team leader's face as she looks at her companion.

Nat shrugs. "You have to take the small opportunities when you can."

"Ugh," Morgan groans, rolling her eyes.

"Your positivity is making Morgan nauseous again, Natkins," Farah adds, her chuckle reverberating off the shops lining one side of the street.

"What about you, Detective?" Nat asks, ignoring Farah's teasing.

Her question makes me flick my head to her, finding the group suddenly studying me. "What about me?"

"Do you miss patrolling?" she clarifies. "Or were you glad to give up these duties when you became detective?"

Glancing down at the street, I give a shrug. "I'm probably better suited to working through evidence, rather than being out and about."

"At least you know what suits you best. Few people care to admit what their strengths really are," Ava says suddenly, catching my attention. There's no sarcasm to her voice. In fact, I'm surprised by the small amount of respect that seems to accompany the words.

We continue on down the street, conversation coming easier than it had when we'd first started out.

. . .

**E**leven o'clock brings with it a deeper darkness and a still-deeper chill. The cold seeps through the pockets of my coat, biting at my fingers and settling with an ache on my shoulders. My walk has turned into a stomp just to try and keep the feeling in my toes.

Midnight is out agreed stopping point. I glanced up at the clock tower, protruding into the night sky so high it can be seen anywhere in the centre of town. _Only fifty-seven minutes to go._

The agents had split off a few minutes before, checking out a couple of longer side streets before we have to meet up again. They'd made sure I'd checked my radio was still working at least ten times before going, but I doubt I'll need it.

I'm beginning to half-hope something will jump out of the shadows, just to relieve my boredom. Even I could have told the mayor the killer was unlikely to return to the same place where he has already killed.

Forty-one minutes left. Counting down isn't really helping, but at least it's something to do. Silence stretches as long as the night's shadow, and I let out a beneath just to break the quiet monotony.

Turning the corner of the block, my heart leaps into my throat as a figure emerges from the dark alleyway beside me. It settles again when I recognise the shape.

"Ava!" I blurt, trying to relax the adrenaline that had been injected into my system from the fright.

She glances over me for a moment before looking away. "I apologise, I didn't mean to startle you."

"Have you found anything?" I ask. "Seen anyone?"

She shakes her head. "The others will be reporting in with us soon. We can wait until then."

Normally it would be such a simple thing to do: wait – except for the heavy, awkward silence which immediately settles over us. Ava keeps her cautiously stoic expression turned away from me.

After a while, I find there's an odd sense of calm that comes from standing beside her, It makes my tension ease and sends a flutter through my stomach. Maybe it's her lithe, solid figure, or possibly the tight-lipped frown I doubt anyone would bother trying to mess with, or the confidence that radiates off her that wants to cover me like a velvet blanket.

The moonlight from above strikes against her feature, highlighting every beautiful line of her face and outlining the lean shoulders beneath her thick coat.

I bite my lip and stare at the woman. Pig-headed she may be, but she's certainly difficult to look away from.

I quickly shake my head to clear my thoughts, my eyes widening in surprise at my own reaction to her. I shuffle a small step away.

"Are you all right?" she asks, noticing the movement.

I nod, turning away slightly to hide the heat radiating up mu neck.

Silence holds us again until she suddenly breaks it with an unexpected question. "Tell me, Detective, how did someone so... young become a detective so quickly?"

When she says 'young,' I can tell she actually means 'inexperienced,' something which makes me thin my lips. "Detective Reele was retiring," I explain. "The police captain and the mayor decided I was best to replace her."

I leave out the part where the promotion was rushed through. I received no extra training or testing except shadowing Reele for a few days before she left, which mostly involved fetching her coffee.

Ava stops staring down the street, instead turning to looking at me, "I'm surprised. You are far competent most I've met."

My eyes widen at the compliment, unsure for a moment if I actually heard her correctly. Even she seems surprised at her own words, as though the statement was a stray thought not to be said aloud.

I cock my head to one side and grin. "Aw, see?" I say, my smile widening further. "You do like me, really."

Ava simply rolls her eyes and lets out a smile sigh. "Let's find the others. They're taking too long."

I chuckle and give a nod.

Ava suddenly jerks backward a step, twisting around to stare into the darkness beyond. Though I can barely see through the shadow, I snap my focus around to stare too. "What is it?"

"I don't know..." she says, her words trailing off.

I swallow hard.

There's no movement or sound, yet Ava still glares into the night. It's unnerving, to say the least, watching her body tense and her brow furrow deeply.

I flinch as she suddenly whip around, staring at me with the same narrowed glare she'd been using with the darkness. Her gaze flashes over me in quick inspection, and I open my mouth to speak when she suddenly gets there first.

"You must be cold," she snaps. And without waiting for a response, she shrugs off her thick scarf, swinging it out, and bundling it around my neck.

She doesn't let go, instead grasping the ends of the dark grey woollen scarf, my whole neck and shoulders embraced inside of it. The action is so sudden and strange that it takes a few moments to process.

I can feel the heat building in my ears as I became increasing aware of the shorten gap between us. Ava's fingers still tightly gripping onto the ends of her scarf. The fluttering of a heart filled the empty silence, my heart slowly started to hammer against my chest.

Her light green eyes suddenly looked much softer.

Not cold or disant but surprised. But before I could even understand what she was trying to hide Ava reluctantly pulled away.

"There you guys are!" Farah's voice cuts through the heated heaviness that had pressed against us, Ava's jaw tightens at the interruption. Ava visibly grits her teeth Farah's gaze flickers between me, Ava, and the scarf still draped over my shoulders.

"What's going on here then?" A long smile breaks across the young agent's face. "You, uh, just 'shooting' the breeze with the detective, Ava?"

There was a hidden meaning behind Farah's words, the flickering smirk that played on her lips as she eyed her leader. I could feel the anger radiating from Ava before she lets out a calming breath. Not allowing Farah to irritate her further.

"Did you come across anyone?" Ava asks, trying to distract Farah's attention.

Farah shakes her head. "We thought we might have had someone." She shoots Ava a glance. _Great _the feeling of being left out is stronger than ever.

I glance between Farah and Ava, letting out a sigh and running a hand over my air. Ava's scarf brushes against my jaw, and I realise it has started to feel comfortble. "Let's call it a night," I say. "We should try to get a few hours of sleep before starting all over again tomorrow."

"All right," Farah says, though her stranger, amused smile remains fixed on Ava. "Looking forward to it, Detective."

I step towards Ava, pulling the garment from around me. "Thank you," I say, daring a glance at her.

Ava takes it, wrapping it back around herself. "You're welcome." She meets my gaze for only a moment, soon withdrawing it to focus on Farah.

"Well, goodnight." I turn quickly, scanning the street and finding my car glinting dully beneath the street lamp where I had parked.

"Guess we should get going too," I hear Farah say.

"Of course," Ava replies.

But when I glance over my shoulder, I find her staring after me for a moment more before disappearing into the night with Farah.


	8. Chapter Seven

**First Blood**

**Chapter Seven: Hospital Appointment**

**. . .**

Beep! Beep! Beep!

The alarm shrieks from my clock, the sound echoing like a scream inside my sleep-deprived head. The red numbers shine bright against my bleary vision and I shy away for a moment. When I look back, the time is the same. It's still time get up.

Pressing the off button, I slide out of bed, shaking the remaining sleep from my mind. Thankfully, the bathroom's not far; I stumble over to it before my bed tempts me back.

While continuing to try and ready myself for the day, tugging on my usual outfit of trousers and pressed shirt, I begin gathering up my things.

The morning sun blazes in through the square windows of my living room, the golden light seeping around the rest of my one-bedroom apartment. The building may be boring, flat, and made of unappealing redbrick, but at least it gets a good amount of light.

I glance about the room. Having lived her for years, I've kind of gotten used to how it looks.

The cream walls that came with the apartment were the first things that had change. Now replaced by a much darker palette, it's easier on the eyes – especially when accented by the heavy wood furniture I've placed about, topped with a few metallic decorations to give it some lift.

Shrugging off the thought, I shove my things into my bag, sling it onto my shoulder, and head out of the apartment.

**. . .**

Shuffling into the station, I glance up and almost stumble to a stop to see Douglas sitting at the front desk, in shock to find him here before me. It's hard to remember the last time he arrived before ten.

"Actually, the detective had just walked in," he says into the phone, smiling at me. "Did you want speak to him, Captain?" Suddenly I'm extremely glad I decided not to lie in. "Oh, okay, I'll let him know."

Douglas places the phone down, turning to look at me as I wait. "He says the mayor was an idiot to send you out last night, but even though you didn't find anything, it paid off. Apparently people were happy to see you out and about."

"At least it wasn't a total waste then..." I mutter, shrugging off my jacket and heading to my office.

Inside the office, the unit is already at work – something I've grown used to walking in on the past few days. Farah glances up at me, eyes widening. "Wow, did you manage to get any sleep, or is this your usual look?"

It's true; I do look more than a little sleep-deprive. When I'd manage to catch a glimpse of myself in my car's rear view mirror, I'd baulked at my reflection: shoulders sagged, skin duller than usual, even big dark circles appearing under my dark brown eyes.

Not the most motivating image to see in the mirror that morning.

I'm reminded of Farah's jibe as she smiles towards me.

I roll my eyes, too tired to bother with her quips today.

Thankfully, she doesn't come up with any more.

The fact that they all look bright-eyed and ready to go doesn't help the issue. _Surely they only got as much sleep as I did?_

"What's on the agenda for today, Detective?" Nat asks.

A voice sounds from the front of the station in response, echoing into my office. "Is Detective Blake here?" We all glance around to see Kate Hayes's pale form hunched by the front desk.

"Looks like my first task is talking to Garret's mother," I reply. "Maybe she'll have some new information." And with that small hope, I head back out of my office towards Kate, bracing myself for the conversation ahead.

Kate's gaze flashes to me as I draw near, her eyes bloodshot and heavy-lidded. She grips the strap of her bag, her knuckles white.

"Is there any news?" she asks, her voice catching.

I shake my head. "I thought you might be here with new information."

"No, I just..." She swallows hard, glancing between me and Douglas. Douglas shift, visibly uncomfortable around the grieving woman. "I wondered if you've made any progress on the case? I don't want him to be forgotten."

"Oh..." I stumble on a reply, looking over her barely-held-together expression. "We're progressing well. Please, don't worry. We're so close to catching the killer." A small knot of guilt tightens in my stomach, but I swallow the feeling down and attempt a smile.

Her eyes widen in hope, which just makes it worse. "Really?" She lets out a long breath. "Oh, you have no idea how good it is to hear you say that. I thought -" Her words choke into a sob, the grief finally pushing through.

Douglas throws me a wide-eyed stare of terrified uncertainty at the woman's sudden wailing, almost tumbling off his chair as she stumbles and leans on the front desk. Her grief is far too heavy for her to stay standing.

Thankfully, Tina comes in just as the woman breaks down. "Kate, what are you doing here?" Tina asks.

Kate manages to raise her head. "I came... to ask about the case..." The words are barely auible between the crying.

Tina lets out a heavy, sigh, then glances at me with a nod. "Come on, Kate, let's get you something to drink." She offers a hand, which Kate takes. The pair of them shuffle away towards the kitchen area.

"Bloody hell!" Douglas exclaims as soon as she's gone. "I'm glad gotta deal with that stuff and not me."

I shake my head at the boy before turning on my heel and heading back to my office. The headache throbbing at my temples serves as a remnant of the conversation.

Stepping into my office, I pause mid-step; an odd tension is crackling in the air. Ava stands at the window as usual, but her shoulders are tensed, a frown on her brow and her fists clenched. Farah and Morgan are also unusually quiet, none of them looking at each other.

It's then I notice a member missing from the unit. "Where's Nat?"

"Licking her wounds, probably," Farah replies, though not with the usual smile.

I arch a brow at the odd reply, half growing used to the enigmatic answers she often spouts. "Tina's dealing with Kate," I say, trying to dispel the off silence. "She came asking about the case's progress."

Ava shakes her head. "We'd make more progress on it if you didn't keep running off to speak to those people." There's a sharp brashness to her tone that's stronger than usual.

"Oh yeah," I reply, stepping forward and spreading my hands. "Because we've made such great progress staying in the office and working on the case."

"You barely seem like you've tired to work with us. No wonder the case is failing." She folds her arms, but some of the fight seems to have dropped from her.

My eyes widen in disbelief. "Are you kidding me?" All I've been doing is working with you!"

Anger still flares within me at the comment. "Fine! Then do it your way, and I'll do it mine!" I march back out of the office, slamming the door with much force that the door frame trembles at the impact.

The bleakness of the pathologist's lab is plenty warmer than Ava had been during that spat. I just don't understand why she's so hostile at times. _And here I was thinking we were actually starting to work better together_...

"Ugh." I groan, rubbing my index and thumb over the bridge of my nose and then smacking open the lab doors. Verda jumps at my sudden entrance, spinning to face me with a brow raised. "Bad day?"

"Oh, you know," I begin with a heavy sigh. "Grieving mothers, overbearing team members... the usual stuff."

Verda stands from his stoll and walks towards me with a sympathetic frown. "Then I guess now would be a bad time to ask for a favour?"

"What's the favour?"

"It's the hospital," he says with a shrug. "They're still ignoring my urgent requests, and my work has been stalled for days because of it."

"Okay, a bit of a delay is one thing, but this is starting to get ridiculous," I reply. "I'll head over there now and see if I can't get things moving."

Verda sags in relief. "Thanks, Detective. I really appreciate it."

I give a nod. I'm thankful to have a task that I can actually complete, rather than standing around my office staring at the same lack of evidence I've been looking over for days.

So, I probably should have told one of the team where I was going before I'd gotten halfway to the hospital, but the fight with Ava had continued to nag at me. Still, I'll have to work with them again at some point. But after just earning my detective's position, I'm not eager to give up my first case to anyone. Especially not someone like Ava.

I glance down at my cell phone, the shiver phone rocking slightly on the passenger seat of my car as I drive.

Succumbing to my more professional side, I pull my car over in order to call Nat. I really should let someone in the unit know.

After scrolling through the contacts list, I hit her name and the phone rings. They all have Agency phones, having given their numbers to me a couple of days before.

It clicks onto a rather generic message. "Hi, Nat, it's Ryan," I begin, wiping down my trousers as I speak. "Just letting you know I'm headed over to the hospital to try and hurry them along with the test results. I'll drop back at the station when I'm done and check in then."

I pull the phone away, click it off, and throw it back on the passenger seat. Then I begin my journey towards the hospital once again, now with a small smile of satisfaction.

It's a little way to the hospital at the edge of town, and I grip the steering wheel to guide me through the tree-lined, open road. Sun strikes the windscreen; I have to blink past the intensity of it, the brightness cutting through my heavy thoughts of the team and the case.

Finally, the hospital creeps into view, the flat, wide building visible through the wall of stark trees. The hospital is by far the newest building in Wayhaven, built on the remnants of the first-ever warehouse constructed in the town.

When Wayhaven's committee (made up of the town's richest residents, lead by the illustrious mayor) had taken it upon themselves to renovate it, most of the town had happily agreed. Well, until they realised 'renovate' meant tearing down the old building and constructing the bland, cream-brick building with no character that now stands in its place.

Still, if any building in town has to be rebuilt as new, then a hospital seems the best choice. Being taken in for surgery should be a lot less worrying in a state-of-the-art facility, rather than some old, crumbling wreck that 'maintains a feel of the past."

I navigate the bend around the building into the car park, pulling into one of the visitors' spaces. It's hard to swallow down the feeling of seeing my little scratched-up vehicle squeezed between two gleaming sports cars.

The automatic doors slide open as I approach, and I'm greeted with the open space of the reception area. I have to say I'm always impressed when I step inside; I never realised there was such an array of pallid greys and beiges to decorate with.

The waiting area lies completely empty, which isn't exactly unusual. Everyone in town goes to see Doctor Turner first, and only at his insistence do they reluctantly visit the hospital – even in emergencies.

I head to the front desk, where the receptionist slumps in his chair. His gaunt face, drooping eyes, and sour expression are not exactly the most welcoming thing to be greeted with.

"I'm Detective Blake." I swipe my jacket aside, revealing my badge. "I'm here about the blood test results for the station."

The man immediately stiffens, a crinkle on his nose as he eyes the badge. His wan skin reddens. "Our resources are valuable, Detective. The results of the living take priority over the dead."

"Oh yes," I say, sweeping an arm out towards the empty waiting area. "All those living patients I see you're completely swamped with."

His lips thin into a tight line, almost disappearing between his teeth. "A detective with sarcasm, how original."

"And a receptionist with power-envy, how unique," I reply, just as curtly.

Eventually, he raises his arm and points a bony finger down the hallway to one side. "Take the first right, then the third door on the left. The blood technician's office there, but I can't guarantee he'll have what you want. He's new and... a but strange."

"I'll take that into consideration. Thanks," I say in a sharp tone, then head off to follow the directions.

The corridors are hard to navigate; each grey-flecked wall merges into the next, and the headache-inducing fluorescent lighting mask any sign of natural light that manages to find its way through the low windows that line one wall. Thankfully, it's not far to the door I need. A nearby sign points it out as the blood technician's office.

The name plate hanging askew on the door announces the lab of Dr. Gale Leeway.

I give a sharp knock, waiting for a response which comes quickly. Then I push open the door.

Inside, the room matches the rest of the hospital with its boring décor and colour palette. The small lab is chock-full with counters, each one weighed down by machines that whirr and beep. Tet tubes and beakers dot any available spaces left. Though I barely see much at all; the intense stench of disinfectant almost makes my waters.

Stepping further inside, I stare at the tall figure at the end of the room. Their back is to me, their shoulders draped in a crisp white coat. When they make no move to indicate they're aware of my presences.

I clear my throat, shifting from foot to foot by the doorway.

The doctor swings around, his face masked by enormous goggles, He yanks them off, the elastic pinging against his gloved hands. "Yes?"

"I'm Detective Blake," I explain. I don't exactly want to get off on the wrong foot with this guy if he's the one who can rush the test results through. "I'm here about the blood test results the station's pathologist requested."

He purses already thin lips. A shadow of stubble lines his jaw, dark against the paleness of his cream skin. The black curls streaked with grey that surround his face bob as he nods; his face is lined with age, but still handsome. "Ah yes, I remember. The staff told me there was no priority on those and to keep them on hold until later, so I hadn't sent them out yet."

_I bet they did_... I shrug away the thought.

"It's really has become somewhat of a priority, Dr Leeway," I reply, letting genuine urgency into my voice.

"Leeway?" He frowns, then glances at the name plate on the open door. "Oh, they still haven't changed that over." He gives a chuckle.

"Then, it's Doctor...?"

He springs into action when he realises I'm waiting for an introduction. "Yes, of course, sorry." He offers his hand out after rolling off his glove, a smile wide on his face. "My name is Dr. Ethan Murphy."

I place my hand in his and shake it. I smile as politely as possible at the doctor, withdrawing my hand and placing it back at my side. "So, about those results...?"

"Oh, of course." He smiles in understanding, but it's a tight expression. One that makes me suppress a strange shudder. "Are the results in relation to the recent murders?"

I shrug, letting out a small breath. "I suppose that's pretty obvious."

"Yes. It's hard to cover these types of things in a small town, I'd imagine." He suddenly takes a wide step forward, closing the gap between us.

Although he's a slight man, it's hard to deny the power behind his presence. I swallow down the odd reaction, standing my ground."

"It would be good to know some more details of what you know about the murders," he says.

"That is something I can't discuss," I reply firmly.

Dr. Murphy snatches out, grabbing my hand in both of his. I instinctually make to yank it back, but his grip it with surprising strength.

His cold thumb robs over my wrist. "Why don't you relax?"

A prickle of fear crawls over my skin as I stare into the man's eyes, which – although framed with a few wrinkles – hold an unnerving amount of strength to them.

"Okay..." I reply, the word elongated as I draw my hand back from his. "This is getting weird."

The doctor's face contorts into confusion before he stares down at his hands like they're broken tools. Hopefully he's realising just how creepy he is acting. But when he flicks his gaze back up to meet mine, his eyes shine with sudden excitement and a grin smile sits on his lips.

I only just manage to stop myself from taking a step back at his expression.

"I'll just get those results for you, Detective," he says, turning and fishing through a pile of folders, each an inch thick with printouts. The soles of his shoes squeak against the linoleum floor as he shuffles from desk to desk. I grit my teeth to bear the noise, coupled with the endless whirring drone of the machines all about the room.

After a few minutes, the doctor grasps a file and tugs it from a mountain of others. "Ah, here we are." He spins to face me, stumbles forward with a gasp.

On instinct, I spring into action, dipping forward to save him from colliding with the centre row of counters. His weight bashes into me like a toppling column, and I slam back into the table behind. My hands slap down on the surface to take the brunt of the fall.

"Agh!" Pain lashes over my hand, and I draw it to my chest with a hiss of pain. I can already feel the warm slickness of blood tricking from the cut without even looking at it. I'd managed to smash a beaker beneath my palm on impact with the countertop, a glass hard slicing across my skin.

"Oh my!" the doctor stutters, his gaze snapping to my injured hand. "I'm so sorry, Detective. Here, let me..." He whips out a handkerchief from his jacket pocket and makes to press it against my hand.

"It's nothing," I say, snatching the tissue from his advancing grasp. My brows pinch together as I press it against the wound, gaining a little relief from the pressure.

He doesn't make to reply, only continues to stare at my injured hand, eyes wide. He swallows hard.

The cut throbs with pain so bad my eyes almost water. But I blink it back, keen to leave before anything else happens. It's not exactly been the best trip so far.

I hold out my uninjured hand. "The results."

Dr. Murphy blinks out of his staring and shakes his head. "Yes, yes here." He slaps the weighty file into my hand.

"Thanks." I tuck the folder under my arm, my other hand clutched around the handkerchief. It seems to have stemmed the bleeding.

When I turn to leave, Murphy's squeak against the floor again. "Can I ask where I might find you? Just in case I get anything new on those results."

I hold back a groan, turn on the spot, and just about manage to wiggle a card out from my jacket pocket. "This is my name – also, the address and phone number of the station. I'm usually there if you need to get hold of me."

He flips the card over in his hands, a long smile on his lips. "Thank you."

Turning once more, I finally manage to leave the lab, shutting the door firmly behind me and letting out a long breath.

Now I understand why Verda always rings the hospital and never comes in person. I shake my head, pain still pulsing through my hand.

I certainly don't want to be meeting him again... The man doesn't exactly ooze charm or professionalism.

Time to get back to the office and hope the results turn up something that was worth going through all of that.


	9. Chapter Eight

**First Blood**

**Chapter Eight: Thralls**

**. . .**

**W**hen I arrive back at the station, it's far later than I had expected. The afternoon sun has lost its warmth, the bright rays already starting to dip below the horizon of trees.

Chucking my coat and things inside, I'm half-surprised to find my office empty. Unit Bravo have obviously already headed home for the day. With a shrug, I head towards the basement, knowing Verda will be keen for the results.

Pushing open the doors, I step inside the bleak lab. A shudder runs through me at the reminder of what just happened at the hospital.

Verda sits with his back to me, hunched over his dark and staring with full concentration through a microscope. Apparently not even the sound of the doors can distract him from his work.

I smile at the sight. He's always been a hard worker, right from the moment he stepped inside the station after transferring in from the city a few months ago. The man had barely gotten through introductions before he was marching towards his new lab to handle the backlog.

I'd headed down to the lab after him to introduce myself straight away. I think he may have been a little overwhelmed by my enthusiasm to meet a new colleague, even more so when Tina came to join us. But he's eventually cracked out of his work-only shell with out help and quickly settled into the station.

It's strange to think on a time when he wasn't around, My smile widens as I shake the memory away.

With the results gripped in my hands, I move towards the pathologist. He's still huddled over the microscope.

I step forwards, slapping the paper down on the desk beside him. "I come bearing gifts."

His focus shifts to the papers. "Excellent!" He then swings around to face me, blinking rapidly. "Sorry, I've been staring down that microscope too long. The world's gone fuzzy."

I give a chuckle.

But his attention doesn't remain on the papers long as he catches sight of my badly handkerchiefed-bandaged hand.

"What happened?" He throws down the file, stepping closer and reaching out to examine my injury. Thankfully, the bleeding stopped some time ago.

"Oh this?" I reply, turning my hand over in his. "There was a bit of a scarp for your results. But you should see the other guy!" Verda snaps his gaze up to mine, and I give a wide grin.

He rolls his eyes. "Come on, I'll clean it up and wrap it properly for you."

With a soft laugh, I follow him over to the first aid kit on the other side of the room. Whatever treatment he can give is bound to be way better than my futile attempt at bandaging it.

**. . .**

A few hours later, I lean back in my chair and let out a long sigh, folding my hands behind my head. After stretching out my aching limbs – gained from hours of sitting in a half-dilapidated office chair – I reach to take a sip of my drink... only to find stale dregs meeting my lips.

I grimace, slamming the cup back down.

The glare of my monitor is the only thing lighting the small space of my office. I glance about, trying to adjust my eyes to the darkness; I didn't notice exactly when evening had fallen.

A knock brings me out of my introspection; the click of the light switch being turned on catches my ears.

Wincing against the sudden flash of artificial light, I manage to see Tina stepping into the room with a bright smile. "You're working late," she says, coming to perch on the edge of my desk.

"A detective's work is never done..." I say the words jokingly, though a heavy sigh follows anyway.

"Well, lucky it's not, or I might not have caught you before you left."

I raise a brow, waiting for her to continue.

She grins. "I may have found a suspect for you."

"Really?" The news has me slumping back in my chair, half in surprise and half in relief.

"It was through that anchor pin you found," she continues. "The group of protesters I told you about. Well, apparently one guy was more vocal than the rest. I had Verda see if he could get any DNA from the pin to match it to that guy."

"And?"

"It was a success!" She throws her hands into the air. "I only just found out. It was part of the test results you brought back from the hospital. Anyway, the suspect is Lance Huttle."

I frown, the name – and the face belonging to it – instantly recognisable. "Is that-"

"Yeah," she interrupts with pouted lips. "The guy we pulled in for drunk and disorderly at least once a week when we were still partners."

"As much as I like having a new lead on the case," I begin, leaning on my desk with my elbows, "none of this actually makes him the murderer."

"True. I can only give you the info I have. You'll have to work out if he's our guy. But you can't do anything about it until tomorrow, anyway."

She shift on the desk to face me further. "There's no one to go with you to bring him in, and the police captain would have your badge if you went alone."

I frown at that, remembering that Unit Bravo hasn't dropped in all evening. Guess they really have gone home for the night.

"So," Tina says, springing up from her place and grinning, "I suggest we finally go out for deinks to celebrate your promotion! Everything's been so hectic from the minute you got the job – you haven't even had a chance to sit and enjoy it."

The idea is tempting, especially because she's right. My first day was welcomed with a gruesome murder rather a chance to settle into my new role. Any opportunity I might have had enjoy myself was thrown out of the window when this case started.

I swivel around in my chair to face her, a smile gracing her lips.

"I would like to..." I say, letting my words trail as I think it over. Eventually, I give a defeated sigh. "But I can't. I really need to finish these reports."

She groans. "Fine. But don't overwork yourself, all right?"

I give a nod, to which she smiles before finally leaving me to the silence of my office once more.

With just me and the night shift volunteer at the front desk, I settle back down to get some work finished co I can actually head home at some point tonight.

A knock at the door just moments later has me sighing. "Tina, honestly, just go already-" My words stumble to a halt when I find it's not Tina at the door.

Bobby gives a lopsided smile as she elans against the door frame. "Hey there, handsome."

"Leave." The one words comes out sharp from between my lips.

"Oh, calm yourself," she replies, the smile turning into a smirk. "I promise I'll behave."

I roll my eyes, a half sneer curling my lip. "What are you doing here?"

"I've come to bug you," she replies, sauntering towards my desk, hips swaying as she goes while dragging a finger over the sideboard. "At least, that's what your receptionist assumed. Thinks I came to pester you for a story."

She takes a seat, her long legs crossed elegantly.

"Then why did they let you past?" I ask.

She shrugs. "They don't usually, but seeing as you were here tonight they obviously thought they'd let you deal with me instead. So, you gonna offer me a drink or what?"

I glance over my shoulder to where she nodded her head. It's the cabinet where Detective Reele kept her badly-concealed stash of booze. I place a hand on my desk, not breaking eye contact with her. "You're not going to be here long enough for a drink."

She smiles and shakes her head. "Not much hospitality at the station then?"

I don't bother replying.

Quiet punctuates the small office, neither of us seeming to want to break it first. But it apparently starts to become too heavy for even Bobby to handle.

"Look, Ryan, I know you don't think much of how I'm reporting on this case-"

"Wow," I interrupt, leaning forwards. "Something we can actually agree on."

"A rare occurrence in your eyes," she says, a smirk playing at the corners of her lips.

Bobby shrugs, hands held wide. "But no matter what I'm reporting, I'm still a citizen of Wayhaven."

"Your point?" I ask.

"My point is I don't much like living in a town where a psycho is running around." She stands from the chair and then leans both hands on the desk. "Your failures may sell my paper, but they don't exactly help me walk home calmly in the dark. You know what I mean?"

I stare over her for the longest moment. "You're... actually scared?"

"I wouldn't exactly say scared." She pushes herself up, rubbing a hand over the curve of her neck. "Terrified would be more accurate." She then chuckles, smiling brightly.

It certainly not what I was expecting to hear from her. This case really must be getting to her if she's willing to come to me and actually admit that she's scared. Unless... It could all just be an act.

I purse my lips, staring over her in examination.

I know Bobby pretty well, and I've certainly never heard her speak like this before. Maybe she really is worried.

With a defeated sigh, I stand from my chair. "I'm doing everything I can to catch the killer, Bobby. I'm sure new leads will come in soon, and we can finally make Wayhavn safe again."

Bobby's lips twitch and she folds her arms, her crisp white shirt creasing a little with the motion. "So you're saying you have no current leads on the case?"

_You have got to be kidding me!_ I groan in frustration of being suckered in – yet again – by this damn reporter.

I move out from behind my desk and stride towards the door. "Unless there's anything else...?" I gesture outside.

"You could be a little more sympathetic, you know." She swipes back her caramel-coloured hair, waves of it pouring over her shoulders, and glides towards me in heels so high I can barely believe she's able to balance on them. "Maybe... even offer a little comfort? For old time's sake."

I'm about to reply when a clatter comes from the back of the station. The night shift volunteer also glances up, both of us frowning in confusion at the noise. It should only be us here.

I narrow my eyes at Bobby. "You should go." Then – with quick steps, before she has chance to make another quip or suggestive comment – I march out of my office and towards the back doors behind the kitchen area.

Doing my best to avoid the empty work station made almost invisible in the dark of the dimly lit station, I move towards the doors. Moonlight floods in through the glass panels, and another shuffle of noise makes me hesitate.

Then a very loud, very familiar voice says, "Now can I make a joke about coming in through the back door?"

Another recognisable voice replies with a sharp, "No."

I let out a relieved breath, striding forward with more confidence and finally coming to stand face-to-face with Unit Bravo.

My greeting, and my question as to why they are coming through the back, fall flat. I suddenly watch each one of their gaze snap to my injured hand, held at my side.

"You're hurt," Nat says, though she doesn't break from the weird trance.

I pull my hand to my chest, staring at the neat bandaging Verda had done. "It was-"

"Everything all right, Detective?" the night volunteer asks, peering around from the kitchen.

I glance over my shoulder, giving a nod. "Yeah, it's good."

The volunteer's gaze shifts over the team. "If you have company, do you mind if I pop home for a couple of hours?" Concern tugs heavily at every word. "It's just, my kid's sick."

I give a nod, too distracted by Unit Bravo's sudden appearance to pay much mind to the request.

They smile brightly and head back to the front desk to grab their things before jogging out of the front doors.

I look back at Unit Bravo. "Come on, let's go to my office."

As soon as we enter the small room, the group disperse themselves around it in the usual way.

"You're here late, Detective," Nat says, settling down into the seat.

"I was just finishing up some reports," I reply, sitting back into my own chair and trying to fidget through the ache in my back.

Farah shakes her head crossing her ankles on my desk before Nat pushes them back off with a sigh. "Are you all work, Detective? You're as bad this lot."

'This lot' doesn't overly appreciative of the comment. Morgan's lips thin before she shoves a cigarette between them, and Ava frowns and turns her focus to the window.

"I'm guessing you all don't get out much either then?" I ask.

"That's an understatement," Farah replies, crossing her legs in the chair and only just about balancing on the seat. "You'd think they don't know what the word 'fun' means, what with the amount of work they prefer to do."

"Maybe you should force them all out to have some fun," I reply, gesturing at the tense group. "For their own good."

"Ha!" Farah barks. "Good luck getting them to shift themselves out of anything but work mode."

"Good luck convincing the Agency to let you try," Nat adds in a joking tone.

They chuckle together, and I can't help but relax to see the camaraderies between them. They may not get to go much, but that doesn't seem to have hampered their friendships.

Feeling a little more at ease, I reach up and run fingers over my ebony black hair, thankful that at least the short length of it is cooling my neck.

A wave of tiredness is quickly beginning to overcome me. "I should really head home."

Standing, I stretch out the kinks that knotted from sitting in the chair for so long. As I roll out my shoulders, I arch a brow, having thought I caught Ava watching my motions closely. Must have been my imagination...

I then go to grab my jacket, only to wince in pain as my wounded hand flares up once again.

"You didn't tell us how you got that," Nat says, obviously noticing my grimace.

I shrug, tugging on my jacket. I'm careful to avoid the injury.

"It was at the hospital," I begin, "The blood tech was... well, a bit weird, and he took forever just to hand over the results. The guy managed to fall over his own feet and bang into me. I cut myself on a smashed beaker, that's all."

"If you had let us know where you were going before actually leaving, we could have been there to help," Ava says, the words like that of a teacher disciplining a child.

"Yeah." Farah blurts. "By the time we got there, you were already leaving."

My brow furrows, my lips tightening. "You followed me?"

The team shift awkwardly in their positions, except Ava, who turns to face me fully and holds my stare.

"It was necessary to ensure your safety."

"You're an ass," I reply. Farah erupts into laughter as I say the words.

Ava's lips twitch in annoyance. "Because that kind of professionalism helps me to believe you are so capable."

_Oh my god, this woman is going to drive me insane!_

I try to calm myself, talking a deep breath. "I think I can manage it. At one point the creepy tech even tried to get me to tell him details. Took my hands in his and told me to relax and let him know what was happening, and amazingly, I didn't tell him anything. Because I am a goddamn professional!"

They all visibly stiffen in their seats, and I raise a brow at the tense, collective motion.

"What did you just say?" Nat asks, breath heavy.

"About the tech?" I ask, to which she nods. "He wanted to know if the results were related to the murders-"

Morgan stands from her place on the side table. "What specifically did he say when he took your hand?"

I frown, glancing down for a moment at the memory which makes me shudder. "Uh, 'Why don't you relax' I think."

Morgan swings around, forcing her fingers roughly through her waves of dark hair. "Shit."

"Why?" I ask, shifting forward.

Nat's glare flickers to Ava who thins her lips, jaw thin.

"This whole secrets thing is really starting to get old," I say, breaking the quiet. It was beginning to feel constricting.

Nat snaps her gaze away from Ava to look at me. "The blood technician, what was he like?"

"Apart from creepy," Farah adds, though the smile she throws my way is forced.

"He looked pretty normal: older guy, a kind of grizzled thing going on, about five eight, medium build." I shrug. "His name was Ethan Murphy."

Nat suddenly springs from her chair and walks to her leather jacket draped on the coat hook by the door. Shuffling about in the pocket of the coat, she yanks something out.

Before she can turn around, Ava stands in a flash of movement me flinch, her hand clasped around Nat's wrist. "You can't-"

"He needs to know," Nat interrupts before the team leader can finish her command.

I frown, shifting even further forward. "Know what?"

"No," Ava replies, the word sharp as she completely ignores my question.

Nat stares down at Ava. "If it's him, then he knows about the detective now."

"Then we'll deal with that if it's happened."

"I think Nat's right, if you ask me," Farah adds.

Ava only frowns at her, quite obviously not asking her.

"Our duty is to keep him safe," Ava continues.

My mind is beginning to throb with confusion and annoyance.

Nat's tense expression softens. "Ignorance is not safety, Ava."

I move around from behind my desk, about to demand some answers, when Ava actually succumbs to Nat's stare. She releases Nat's wrist and steps aside, head bowed and a frown knotting between her brows.

Nat moves towards me, hand outstretched to offer whatever she pulled from her jacket. "Here."

I take it from her, staring down, expecting a note or description, Instead, it's a photo – a photo of someone I instantly recognise.

"That's the blood technician. That's Dr. Murphy!" I glance up at the team, most avoiding my gaze, expect Nat who only looks at me in concern.

"He's also the murderer," Morgan says.

The statement is like a sledgehammer to the chest, and I choke a breath through the ragged pain in my lungs.

The news takes longer to process than I expected: the fact I had been standing in the room with the man who had killed so many, the fact he was still out there, and finally the pressing realisation that this team – this Unit Bravo who were supposed to be working with me – had known all along.

I stare at the photo for a moment longer before shaking my head. Glaring up at the team, I throw the photo down, wrapping my coat further about myself and making to stride past the team.

Ava steps into my path. "Where are you going?"

"To arrest the killer." My fingers clench tightly into a fist. "like you should have done in the first place."

"You can't arrest him," Nat says, stepping around me and beside Ava.

"Why not?" I reply, confusion on my words.

"Well..." Farah says, standing from her slouched position in the chair. "It's just-"

"We have orders," Ava finishes.

"I don't care!" I call back, flinging my hands into the air. "My job is to save lives, not wait around until someone says it's okay to do so."

"Our agency has saved more lives than you can ever imagine," Ava replies sharply.

I frown, shaking my head. "You earn respect. You don't demand it."

Nat purse her lips, the caring, soft expression on her face doing nothing to calm me in that moment. "Please, Detective, there is more going on here than you can possibly imagine."

"Then tell me or I'm leaving." I fold my arms and wait for their response.

Unsurprisingly, it doesn't come. Nat glances at Ava, who shakes her head no.

Letting out a scornful breath, I make to step past them both to leave.

Crash!

Four figures suddenly smash through the windows at the end of my office.

Shards of glass glitter on the carpet. The strangers – half bloodied from the impact – groan and stumble back onto their feet.

Three men and a woman loom from the darkness... and I suddenly realise one of them isn't a stranger at all.

"...Lance?" I almost choke on the name. "Lance Huttle?"

The suspect Tina found for the case is suddenly standing right before me – though he hardly seems a man at all.

My nose wrinkles at the stench permeating from him, acrid and rotten. That description matches his looks: skin wrinkled almost beyond recognition, limb and face swollen and bloated, eyes glazed over to a milky white, hair lank and matted.

I stumble a step back, reaching to my belt, only to discover my gun and spray are missing. _Crap, they must be in my drawer._

In contrast with the group's ragged looks, the four of them seem to be dressed in everyday work wear. Two men and the woman are dressed in suits, and Lance is dressed in blue overalls.

"What the hell!" I exclaim. Unit Bravo comes to stand on either side of me.

"Great," Morgan groans. "Thralls."

The group of us stares at the group of them for the longest moment.

One of them lunges forwards.

My heart sinks to my stomach as Morgan charges forward to clash with the attacker. A crack snap through the office as the two begin to scuffle, their fight forcing them to the edges of the room.

I don't get a chance to find my voice before the rest of Unit Bravo wade forward to tackle the other assailants.

A hundred questions flash into my mind like bullets ricocheting off metal: Who are they? What's a thrall? Why are they attacking us? Do Unit Bravo know who they are? What is happening?!

The thoughts are wiped from my mind as another groan sounds from the doorway. I twist around, eyes wide, as another ghoulish assailant stumble inside the room.

The man doesn't pause to take stock of the scene. He charges forwards. His target has their back turned, obviously not sensing the danger. The new attacker lumber forwards, grabbing up a broken table leg and throwing it with terrifying strength at Nat.

I don't think before I act, just rushing forward towards the action. "Nat!" I yell, barrelling into the side of her.

The two of us twist around and tumble to the floor behind my desk. I just manage to plant my hands on either side of her head before my body slams onto hers.

I twist my head around as much as possible to look up where the furniture projectile has sunk into the concrete wall above us.

_What is going on?_ I can't help but stare at the table leg with shocked gasp of breaths.

My focus returns to Nat as she shift beneath me, her deep brown gaze on mine.

The position – even in the midst of the fighting – makes my skin flush a deep red and my arms waken a little either side of her.

"Sorry..." I mumble, trying to clamber off of her as quickly as possible. But the action is made near impossible in the small space behind my desk.

My breath catches as her hands spread over my chest. "It's all right," she says, her breath warm as it brushes over my face, suddenly so close to hers.

I can't help buy swallow hard, the sounds of fighting almost drowned away by the intensity of her gaze. Though my heart was already beating hard, now it seems to race at an alarming rate in my chest.

The heaviness of the moment is quickly broken as a snarl echoes from above us.

I twist myself around as much as possible to find the attacker looming over us, ripping the table leg from the wall to wield it as a club. I gasp as he arcs it down towards me.

Nat's hands suddenly push hard against my chest, shoving me to one side and out of the way of the attack. She isn't so lucky, just barely managing to raise an arm above her to defend herself.

I can barely believe my eyes as the table leg slams down onto Nat's arm... and the wood shatters!

The wood splinters in all directions as it makes impact with Nat's forearm. She groans to bear the pain before leaping into a standing position.

Taking advantage of the attacker's surprise, Nat kicks out, sending the man flying back and crashing into the mess of table in the centre of the room. Then Nat turns to face me, eyes wide in worry. "Are you all right?"

My gaze flickers to her arm, now with a gash across the skin. It should be broken!

I don't get the chance to reply as a yell sounds from the assailant she's just taken down. The fight is far from over yet; the other team members are also still tangled in their own separate brawls. And it's time I do something to help.

My gaze flashes over the scene, still contained to my small and now completely broken office. _A distraction...a distraction... _The thought spins in my mind, until my gaze lands on the fire alarm.

I smile.

Sprinting over towards it while trying to avoid tripping over spikes of broken furniture, I fumble to reach over a smashed chair towards the alarm trigger. Finally, manage to yank down the switch and step back.

The screech of the fire alarm blasts through the room, battering against my hearing so loudly I wince, clamping my hands to the sides of my head. I turn to see if the noise worked. I'm amazed to find it did better than expected.

The attackers drop to their knees, yelling out against the noise and covering their ears. Whatever illness they have must make them pretty sensitive.

But my triumph is stifled by the fact that the shrill noise seems to have affected Unit Bravo too.

"Turn it off!" Morgan yells, teeth gritted and skin paled. The group of them stumble to lean on whatever in nearly, as though unable to stand against the noise. In a rush, I swing back around and flip the switch back.

"Nice thinking. Detective," I hear Farah call. Quiet once again reigns, and Unit Bravo recovers.

With precise moves that are almost terrifying, the group knocks out the remaining assailants. The three men and the woman now lay unconscious at our feet.

"I hate thralls," Morgan mutters, shoving the toes of her boot into the ribs of one the men on the ground. She takes a cigarette out of her pocket, thrusting it between her bloodied lips and sparking it up.

With the flight over and the adrenaline draining from my body, I try to think of what to say first.

"What did you say the blood tech's name was?" Farah asks suddenly from where she's besnt down near one of the men.

"Ethan Murphy," Ava replies, still catching her breath.

Farah stands back up, holding a driver's license in one hand. "Well, here's the real Murphy."

I finally force myself to speak. "What?"

"Our murder must have put the real Murphy under his control when he took his place," Farah continues, ignoring my outburst.

"What!" I repeat, but so much louder.

I let out a heavy composure-regaining breath. "I'm going to assume there is a lot more going on with this case than I've been informed of."

I turn to face the team leader, supposing it should be her I get the answer from. But my gaze flashes from her to Nat at her side, watching in disbelief as the gash on her arm – deep and obvious – suddenly begins to heal.

I shut my eyes for a moment, just in case the fatigue is starting to get to me. But when I open them, the wound is now completely mended.

Nat frowns, looking down to where I'm staring then glancing back up with an uncertain expression.

My shock is only interrupted by Morgan saying. "Wasn't there another one of these guys?"

My eyes widen. I spin on the spot to look when a low growl erupts from behind me.

"Ugh..." A solid mass cracks against the top of my head, shattering through my confusion and exhaustion.

"Detective?"

"Take that thrall out now! Get to the detective!"

"Is he all right?"

"I don't know."

Unconsciousness finally overtakes me. I don't even feel the ground as I fall, only seeming to plummet into darkness.


	10. Chapter Nine

**First Blood**

**Chapter Nine: Welcome To The Agency**

**. . .**

**S**oft voices echo inside my head. I frown against the pounding that's beginning to beat a painful rhythm inside my skull.

Blinking my eyes open, I squint them as I'm greeted by the cold, blinding glare of an artificial light, and also by a group of familiar faces: Nat, Ava, Farah, Morgan and...

"Rebecca?" I blink a couple of times, as though the image might be a mirage. But she's definitely there.

She gives a bright smile, one that contracts with the starkness of the room. Bright white walls sting against my blurry vision, and the drone of the fanlight above is interspersed with the occasional beep of medical machines. The machines flank either side of the hospital bed I'm on.

And yet, it's definitely not the hospital in Wayhaven.

"What... what happened?" My voice comes out hoarse. I wince at the pain which courses through my limbs as I try to sit up further in the surprisingly comfy, if simple, bed.

Nat places a gentle but firm hand on my shoulder. "You shouldn't try to move yet."

"He's fine fine," Morgan says from behind the others, with a dismissive shake of her head.

"You're damn lucky he is," Rebecca growls at her, and my brows arch in surprise to see Morgan actually skulk away at her words.

"Do you remember what happened?" Ava asks, stepping froward to join the others standing at the edge of the bed.

I frown, trying to think past the pain radiating out from the top of my head. "There was a fight?" The fuzzy memories begin to clear. "The attackers...they were sick." Even with the piercing headache, it's to forget the assailants' grey skin and milky eyes. I shudder at the remembered thoughts...

And then it hits me.

My eyes widen, and my gaze shoots up to Nat. "You – you healed! I saw you heal!"

"Ah, so you remember that part too," Rebecca says with a frown, stepping away with a sigh.

The memory plays out like a movie in my head – a very clear, very vivid movie. The gash had been deep, bloodied, maybe not fatal but definitely in need of stitches, and then... it had just mended.

"So.." I say, prompting the tense, quiet group. "Explain."

"What you saw was real," my mother says after a long, quiet moment.

"Telling him is a bad idea," Morgan snaps. She receives a frown from Ava and turns away, slumping against the wall with a sour expression.

"Ryan's identity is known now. The Agency has given him clearance to certain level. He needs to be informed." There is a heavy tone of regret to Rebecca's words as she says them.

I arch a brow. "So, is someone finally going to tell what's really going on?"

Nat chuckles softly. "Yes."

"You know I work for the government," Rebecca begins, seeming almost hesitant to speak.

I nod.

"But it's not just our government," she continues, glancing around at the others in the room. "It's for all of them."

"All of them?" I can't help but repeat that statement.

"It's a global organisation," Nat explains. "One that the world's governments all contribute to, but all try to pretend doesn't exist."

"Why?" The questions just keep blurting out.

"Because we aren't meant to exist," Farah says, having gotten a lot closer without me noticing. I flinch at her sudden proximity... and the long smile on her face.

"...I don't understand."

Rebecca smiles, sitting on the bed next me.

I shift away from her sudden closeness. There are too many secrets swirling between us right now for her to be able to offer any comfort.

A small frown creases her brow, but it's gone before I can really notice.

Instead, she straightens herself and gives an understanding nod. "The goal of the Agency is to deal with certain things that the general populace is unaware of." Things people don't want to know about."

"To keep the things that go bump in the night to people's imaginations," Nat says, leaning against a counter and shoving her hands into her pockets.

"You know – the stuff that humans can't handle," Farah adds.

I tense. "Humans?"

"There are many things in this world that are kept secret from the public," Rebecca says. "But that secrecy is necessary. To protect the general populace, and to protect out agents."

The information is swirling like a blender in my head. "Why to protect your agents?"

"Because we're special," Farah says with a grin, leaning on the bed closer towards me.

Ava yanks her back, the young agent almost stumbling into the wall behind. "Enough, Farah."

Farah gives a soft chuckle, one Morgan joins in with from the corner of the room.

I turn to Rebecca, about ready to plead for a straight-up answer.

She gives me one.

"They're vampires."

The words reply about a hundred times in the space of a second in my mind.

_They're vampires._

My mind finally stops swirling enough for me to respond.

"You know..." I begin, frowning in thought. "There's a whole bunch of stuff that makes so much more sense now that I know that."

Farah barks out a laugh. "Are you serious? No, 'Shit, vampires!" or 'Are you gonna suck my blood?' Just, ;Yeah, that makes sense.'" Though I don't appreciate her impersonation of me, I understand the sentiment.

"Well," I begin, "when I know the whole truth, it's much easier to deal with than just secrets all the time."

Farah purse her lips, then smiles. "All right, then."

The revelation isn't exactly a small thing. But it certainly helps put a lot of the weird stuff that's been happening lately into perspective.

Rebecca slides from the bed back onto her feet in a simple, graceful motion. "Well, if you think you're ready then, how about I show you around out facility and try explain further?" She gestures to the darkened hallway beyond the door and I can't help but wonder about what else could be out there.

**. . .**

**T**he facility we're now walking around – after I got dressed into a boringly plain grey t-shirt and dark trousers – is located under the abandoned bank just outside of the big city, my mother tells me. There are Agency facilities like this hidden throughout not just the country, but the whole world.

I shake my head, unable to picture such a massive, complicated place built so close to the city. And no one has ever known about it!

"I can only show you some of the facility," Rebecca says she lead me though another set of wide corridors. "You haven't obtained full clearance for all of it."

We move further into the bunker-like building. Tubular, concrete hallway line out path, the blandness of the place lifted only occasionally by a bright red or yellow pipe that clonks at random intervals, sounding like it could do with a good service.

Fluorescent lights hum from above, and my mind flurries with ideas about what might lay behind the thick, green steel doors latched to the walls at regular intervals. I'm not sure if I should be concerned by the smoky burning smell that wafts out from under some of them.

The whole thing is much blander than I was hoping for when concerning the supernatural...

One of the doors is slightly ajar, and I find my steps faltering to a stop to stare inside. It looks like some kind of training room; padded mats line the floor, a selection of exercise equipment is spread around the edge, and there are even a selection of blank-faced training dummies set up at one end.

A man steps onto the mat – tall, toned, and obviously there to get training done – and stares at the other end of the room. Then – in a brilliant spark of light – the man appears before one of the dummies...

...and slices its head off with a simple flick of his wrist!

I stare inside the room for the longest moment, unsure how to actually process the reality of the unbelievable display I just witnessed.

I take a step away, only to bang into someone behind me. Spinning on the spot, I mumble out an apology, barely even paying attention.

"No problem," the woman replies and makes to continue on down the corridor... but not before her eyes flash black!

My eyes widen, and my gaze follows her as she continues down the hallway.

_Is...is that a tail?_

Rebecca steps up beside me, her hand coming to rest in comfort on my back. "I know it must feel like your world has been turned upside down..."

I shrug off her hand and take wide step away, my lips pulled into a frown. "I don't need your comfort to get through this."

She lets out a heavy sigh as I push away her comfort – not unusual in our strained relationship. "Still, I'll be here for you during this, if you need me."

I fall back against the opposite wall for support, the cold concrete seeping through my clothing and making me shiver. My gaze finds the gap in the door once again. This time the man severs one of the dummies in half with what looks like a bone protrusion from his forearm.

I may have been accepting with the vampires, nut it's still a lot to take in. I shift my gaze up to the ceiling. "My life just got a lot more complicated..."

The man inside the training room shifts into action again, catching my attention. Rebecca seems to notice where my gaze has fallen and moves forward to gently close the door.

"That's Agent Fuller," she says.

"He's a vampire too?" I ask, the question spilling out of me before I can stop it.

"No," she says with a soft chuckle. "He's a demon."

"Why am I not surprised the government is behind a program that has demons as agents?" I reply, folding my arms.

"Governments," she corrects. "It's a combination of many."

I roll my eyes and let out a sigh.

Rebecca steps in front me, placing her hands firmly on my arms and making me stand a little straighter. "Ryan, please look at me,"

I do as asked.

"Nothing is going to hurt you here. I didn't bring you into this world, but your life may be at risk. If it takes you knowing the truth to save you, then that is what I'll do." Her grip softens, her hands dropping away. "I won't lose you."

Staring over at her, I can see she really means it. Her face is drawn and pale, fearing glinting in her eyes, and for once she looks... older. Tired.

She suddenly faces me with a straight expression. "There are things we still need to discuss. Follow me."

**. . .**

**S**itting in the empty cafeteria, I've managed to find most of my sense again, though my head still aches it stuffed to bursting with all the new information.

The boringness of the room matches the concrete corridors we had just left, a chill settling over me at the sheer size of it. Rows of perfectly straight canteen tables line the room, and the empty seats can't help but make me wonder how many people... that is, how many creatures are in the facility.

More artificial light pours down from above, with not a window in sight. Even in the vastness of the room, it feels suddenly constricting.

At least it doesn't smell like smoke any more. Just disinfectant and cleanliness. Overly clean. Like everything natural about this place has been stripped and wiped away... Suddenly I want the burning scent back.

"Here you go," Rebecca says, sliding a mug of hot chocolate in front of me across the beige, plastic table.

I grip the cup and take a sip, knowing the sugar will help with the shock. It's obviously something Rebecca knows too, and I can't help but wonder if it was something she needed when she'd found out all of this for the first time.

She shuffles onto the bench opposite me, leaning her elbows on the table and siping at her own drink. Steam curls from the mug, dancing in front of her closed eyes and into her ebony black hair. It's strange to see her so at ease.

Apparently me learning this secret has lifted an extreme weight from her mind.

"I remember what it was like to be told about all of this," she begins, placing down her mug but still staring into it. "How all of the nightmares from books and movies and our hears are real."

"And that they're working for our governments, let's not forget that part," I reply, sipping at the chocolate. The hot liquid burns against my throat, but it's enough to help shock some feeling back into my limbs.

"They don't work for the governments. They work for the Agency." She flickers her gaze up to mine. "And if they didn't work here, what do you think they'd be doing?"

I shrug. "I suppose I have no idea."

"Well, unfortunately, you're going to have to." She shifts further forward on the bench, her voice echoing from the concrete walls.

"There are some supernatural beings who don't want to comply with the treaties-"

"Treaties?" I interrupt her with the question so fast my drink almost spills over my lips.

Rebecca passes me a napkin, tutting at me in the exact same manner she used to when I was young and spilt food down my front.

"The treaties are pacts," she explains, "signed between the Agency and supernaturals. They're updated and signed at regular intervals, to keep them up to date with our fast changing world."

She grips her mug tighter. "Most supernaturals aren't from our world, but they manage to find their way here through cracks between dimensions. And once they're here, they can't get back. The treaties detail the terms by which each species can remain in this world, and be under the Agency's protection and guidance. We protect humanity from supernaturals... but we also protect supernaturals from humanity."

"...Aren't from our world?" It about the only thing I caught from that speech.

"No. They are from an alternate dimension." She takes a deep breath. "The Echo World. It's very similar to our own, but in some ways extremely different."

"And by 'extremely different,' you obviously mean full of supernatural creatures?" Sarcasm laces the words, but an uncertainty also tugs at my voice too.

"Yes," she replies bluntly. "There are some supernaturals who don't agree with the terms, and it's also the Agency's duty to enforce the rules and hunt down those who don't comply."

She shift slightly. "Most of our field agent teams are made up of supernaturals. Normal humans just don't have the ability or strength to take down those supernaturals who go rogue."

I take a gulp of my drink. "What happens to them, the rogue supernaturals, when you catch them?"

Her lips purse, and her grip wraps arpund her mug so tight I worry the cup might break. "The punishment is... not a kind one."

"You kill them?" I ask, a brow arched.

She moves her gaze up slowly to mine, sympathy in her eyes. "That would be a kindness." She suddenly stands from the bench and gestures for me to follow once again.

**. . .**

**I**t feels like Rebecca and I have been walking for hours before we finally draw to a stop. We are in front of a pair of thick, green steel doors that blockade the entirety of this section of hallway.

Two guards stand either side, clad in dark grey combat gear and heavy chain-mail vests. Three electronic panel line the wall behind them.

The guards stiffen on seeing Rebecca approach, and I can't help but arch my brows in surprise to their tense response to her presence. Then their attention flicks to me, hands reaching towards the batons holstered on their thigh.

"He's with me," my mother states, and the guards give a nod of reply and instantly relax. Rebecca proceeds to press her thumb against one of the panels, then bends down to the next to scan her eye, and finally presses a selection of odd-looking symbols on the last one.

A loud horn echoes throughout the corridor, a red light flashing overhead before the doors make a hissing noise. They begin to swing open slowly.

Rebecca tenses, staring ahead as the doors continue to open. "I'm not sure you should be seeing this, but I need you to understand the importance of what we do here. And the seriousness of it."

We continue on down yet another corridor. It's cold – white cold of breath form in the air in front of my lips, and the chill sinks into my skin as deep as the shadows outside the pools of pallid light that illuminate our way.

Turning a corner, Rebecca draws to a stop. "This is the punishment for those who go rogue."

I stumble to a halt, staring over the scene before me. On either side of me, stretching for as fas as I can see before more corridors split away, are rows of glass-fronted cells. Inside each cell is a white-tiled room. A metal tube protrudes down from the ceiling, and a plume of sickly-yellow vapour pours from the bottom.

Huddled on the floors of these cages are a variety of creatures – some human-looking, otehrs not even close. Each one of their bodies and faces is contorted into a frozen state of fear: eye wide, fingers or claws grasped into fist, mouth held open in silent screams.

I stumble forwards, my footsteps echoing from the floor and seeming to ripple from the glass in thudding waves... or that could just be the intense beat of my heart drumming in my chest and ears.

My steps remain steady, but I make sure to keep a distance between Rebecca and myself.

I notice a small flicker of a frown catch her face, but it shifts away quickly.

"What's wrong with them?" I finally ask.

Rebecca steps close to one of the cells and stares inside, remorse and sympathy tugging at the frown on her brow. "It's called 'caging.' It's a punishment that was designed by the supernaturals themselves, when the Agency was first formed."

She gestures to the metal tube in the ceiling. "This releases a toxin which traps the prisoner inside their own mind. It makes their worst fears and memories a reality to relive inside their head, and cages them in a state of paralysis."

It's difficult to keep my gut reaction to this contained.

"You're right," I say, swallowing hard. "Killing them would be a kindness."

My gaze falls on a paralysed creature in the cage beside me, a row of scales lining their back all the way down to a tail which extends out from a spiked spine. They're spread on their side, clutching their knees to their chest and rocking, biting down on their lower lip so hard that a dribble of blue blood has polled beneath their head.

"I don't like what we have to do, but trust me when I say this is the only. If we didn't do this, then all these rogue supernaturals would likely be able to escape our facility. Some of them possess abilities and strength far beyond what we can contain by normal means."

Rebecca steps up to the cell I am staring into. "That creature has killed a dozen people and countless supernaturals."

I flinch a little at this news.

"They used acid to melt the skin from their victims before eating them, usually while the victim was still alive."

My stomach reels at the imagery forced into my head, and I glance away from the cell.

"The supernaturals in our world don't need to kill to survive. The Agency's job is also to provide food, shelter, and aid to all supernturals who obey the rules. We help them acclimatise to our world." She nods her head at the cell, her expression hardening a little. "That supernatural had the opportunity, but they chose a different path, and they knew the consequences that breaking the laws would bring."

"Um, ma'am?" A voice interrupts the seriousness of the conversation. We both turn to look behind us where one of the guards us standing.

"Yes?" Rebecca replies in a stiff tone.

The guard shift uneasily. "We have a prisoner transfer soon..."

"Of course," she replies. "We were leaving now anyway." And with a final glance towards me, she heads back towards the exit. I follow a few paces behind.

**. . .**

Uncertainty stalks me down the corridors as we head back through the facility. The hallway is too silent, too empty, to feel wholly at ease.

My mind is still reeling from everything that I've learnt and seen. It's not exactly something I can deal with in the space of a couple of hours!

I almost bang into Rebecca as she comes to a stop outside of a slightly more battered green metal door.

"This is the common room," she says. "If you wait here for a while, I'll have a guest room sorted for your stay here."

"My stay?" I ask.

"You took quite a nasty bump to the head," she replies, her worried gaze flickering up to the bandage that's wrapped around the top of my head. "We need to keep an eye on you for a while. You'll also need to be debriefed further about the true details of the case you're working on."

_At least I finally get to find the truth out about that._ "What about my work? The station-"

"That's all taken care of. Don't worry," she replies with a small smile. Then the expression falters, and she frowns. "I am truly sorry about all of this..."

Finally, the overwhelming thoughts inside my head break, and I can only focus on my mother and realisation of how she kept this a secret from me.

"I suppose now I know why you're away so much," I reply, my words heavy in my mouth.

She nods. "It doesn't make up for my absences, but I hope it will help explain them. And maybe it will help us move forward together?"

I glance over at her with an uncertain frown, unsure how to respond to that. There are way too many raw emotions swirling around my chest to even start thinking of answer.

She gives a final nod. "I'll have someone come find you when your room is ready."

I watch her go, feeling suddenly a little calmer as I do.

Shaking the moment away, I grip the door handle and shove it open, heading inside.

The common room is full of warmth, especially compared to the rest of the facility – like stepping into a log cabin after hiking through snow. Worn leather sofas dot the open space, partnered with burgundy velvet armchairs that have just the right amount of wear to them to make them seem homey rather that outdated.

Intricately patterned rugs covers a polished wood floor, and even the concrete walls have been given a wash of cream paint. Bookcases add a sort of regal quality to it all; even the empty pool table at the far end seems suited to the room.

It's also brighter than any place I've been here so far. An ornate ceiling light glow with an orange hue and there are a couple of table lamps dotted about. There's even an attempted at some nature, with a few lush, green, frill-leafed ferns spilling out of some terracotta pots on shelves.

The heady scent of frankincense pours from an incense stick smoking away on the nearby side table.

It's more welcoming space than any I've seen so far.

…

Well, maybe except for the four vampires staring expectantly at me.

Unit Bravo remain silent as they look over me.

Farah is sprawled over a rather fancy-looking armchair near a brass-coloured radiator; Morgan is perched on a mahogany side table, only just avoiding knocking off a tassel-edged table lamp. Nat is propped against the wall on the opposite side with her hands in her pockets, and Ava is inspecting me with an arched brow from her place leaning against the back of a tall-backed recliner.

"So," Farah says, along smile beginning to form on her face. "Still so accepting of the whole vampire thing?"

Morgan gives a snigger of laughter at the comment.

Nat gives a disapproving tut, then steps towards me with a soft smile. "It gets easier."

"I just can't believe you're actually vampires," I mutter. "You all looks so-"

"Attractive?" Farah chimes in.

I arch a brow. "Normal. Human."

"Oh..." She gives a disappointed frown at my answer.

"We're not so much different than humans," Nat says, to which Morgan scoffs. "Obviously there are some differences."

"Drinking blood instead of beer is quite a big one," I reply.

Farah chuckles. "Hey, I still enjoy alcohol when I can get it."

A knock interrupts the conversation, the door creaking open to reveal a woman dressed in the same grab as the other guards I'd seen.

"Your room is ready, Detective Blake," she says, the words pronounced with an Indian accent.

I nod, more than ready some sleep. My mind and body are beyond exhausted, and I'd be surprised if I don't surface from bed for a week at this rate.

Moving towards the door, I glance to the side as Nat steps up close and hold it open for me.

"You shouldn't blame your mother for how all of this went down," she says, a concerned frown tightening her features. She obviously heard our discussion.

"She's a good agent," she continues, "loyal to the Agency and its rules. I know her well enough to know there must have been times when it's killed her not tell you about all of this. She loves you, very much."

I lean against the door, letting out a sigh. "Yeah, I suppose you're right."

"It's not about being right or wrong," she replies with a smile. "It's about giving her chance to make this up to you."

I give a nod before leaving to follow the guard down the hall.

**. . .**

**T**he guest room had been functional, if a little dreary. At least the bed had been comfortable enough.

Getting to sleep had been nearly impossible. Everything I'd learned – the idea that the world was so much bigger than I've ever known – had swirled inside my mind all night.

I'd eventually managed to get a couple hours of fitful sleep before being woken up by a guard, who told me Rebecca had requested I meet her in one of the medical rooms.

So, here I am – sitting on a hospital bed and staring over my mother and her team of vampires.

It's certainly a different start to my usual day.

"I think proper introduction are in order," Rebecca says suddenly, breaking the uncertain silence which had hung around us all for the last five minutes.

She steps up towards Farah first, who is – as usual – spread with legs and arms dangling over a nearby chair. "Agent Farah Hauville. Newest member of Unit Bravo and our reconnaissance and infiltrations expert."

Farah grins brightly. "And a vampire. Don't forget that."

Rebecca throws her a glare, then moves towards Morgan. "Specialist Agent Morgan." No surname follows.

Morgan makes no move expect to let the cigarette in her mouth drop a little, a flurry of smoke streaming like a veil in front of her face.

"Morgan is our interrogations expert," Rebecca explains.

"It's her warm, open personality that just makes everyone want to spill their secret to her," Farah says with a chuckle.

"Morgan's sensory and pheromone abilities are... much more powerful than most vampires," Rebecca explains, though I note the hesitation in her voice – and also the frown that hits Farah' face at the words.

Rebecca doesn't give me a chance to enquire about just exactly what that means before she turns to Nat. "Agent Natalie Sewell."

She smiles. "Nat is still just fine."

Rebecca places a hand on her arm. "Nat is second-in-command of this unit and is also our research and information expert."

I nod, easily picturing her hunched over a desk, pouring over books and files while scribbling out notes. Though she is quite obviously lithe and tall, she doesn't seem the type who would get into a fight unless pushed. At least, from what I've seen of her so far.

"And of course, Commanding Agent Ava du Mortain." Rebecca turns her focus to her and I stare over at the team leader, the usual frown set on her brow. "Ava commands the unit, but is also our combat expert."

_No surprise there, then._.. I keep the thought to myself.

The room falls quiet once again. I realise that, as the introductions are over, they are waiting for me to respond.

"Wow," I blurt out, letting out a long breath. "That's quite the team you have here."

Rebecca gives a proud smile. "Thank you."

"Nice to have everything out in the open, isn't it?" Farah chimes.

Nat's jaw tightens. "Almost everything."

I glance over at her, then shift my gaze to my mother. "What does that mean?"

"Your blood," Rebecca begins. Running a hand through her hair. "It's... special."

"My blood?" I repeat. "Why?"

"We're not entirely sure," Nat replies.

My mother takes a step towards me. "But now that you know everything, we hoped we could use this opportunity to find out."

"How?"

"We'd like to run tests."

It's hard not to tense at the words.

"It's only blood tests, physical tests, just that kind of thing," Nat explains, seeming to sense my uncertainty.

I frown and shake my head. "Is there something wrong with my blood?"

"There's nothing wrong with it," Ava suddenly says, and it's the first time I've heard her speak since the day before. "In fact, it's unique."

"You possess – what we can only guess for now – some sort of evolved hormone or mutation," Nat explains. "It renders you immune to vampire's pheromone abilities."

Farah scoffs. "Yeah, we can't even use ours on you." She quickly snaps up her hands in defence when Rebecca arches a brow in her direction. "Not that we would have tried!"

It's hard to straighten out all the confusion in my head, but one thin becomes plainly clear. "The killer in Wayhaven isn't some ordinary psycho, is he?" I ask.

Nat shakes her head. "No. He's a vampire."

I glance over them. "Like you?"

"Nothing like us," Ava retorts, as though the question had been ridiculous to ask. She pushes herself off of the wall. "We aren't killers."

"Calm down," I say with a click of my tongue. "I didn't mean it that way."

Ava purse her lips and turns away, though I notice Nat crack a smile.

Thankfully, Rebecca speaks again to interrupt the oncoming quiet.

"The killer in Wayhaven, currently using the alias Murphy, has you pinned as his next target. I sent my team in to protect you and keep you away from him." She pinches the bridge of her nose. "But you're rather more persistent than even I could have anticipated."

I'm not sure whether to take that as compliment or not.

"If he's after me, then why did he kill those other people?" I suddenly realise that all of the weird blood Verda found suddenly makes so much more sense.

"Some of them had that mutation as well," she continues.

"We don't know why he's after people with the mutation, or what he's trying to accomplish," Nat explains.

"He seems to be running some kind of experiment on the victims," Ava says, not looking at me as she speaks. "We're not sure why. His victims would be immune to his powers, so they'd more difficult for him to... acquire."

I shudder at the choice of word.

"He's not doing a very good job on those experiments unless death is what he wants," I reply, uncertain how to handle yet another truck-load of bizarre information. At least focusing on the case has calmed my thoughts on the whole vampire thing for the moment.

Ava shakes her head. "We don't think death is the intended result."

"And whatever he's trying," Farah chimes in, "he's pretty much run out of test subjects."

Rebecca turns to meet my eyes, her lips drawn tight in worry. "From what we can find, we think you are the least one with the blood type he is after."

They all stare at me closely for a long moment, waiting while I process that information.

"Maybe that could work to our advantage," I say, looking back up at them. "If we know what he wants, then-"

"No," my mother says, sitting down on the end of the bed. She's obviously realised what I'm thinking. "We won't let him hurt you, and I will never use you as bait."

A nice sentiment... but that isn't going to help catch this guy.

"So, do you agree to the tests?" Ava asks bluntly. "It could help narrow down why he wants you so badly."

This new world I've been plunged into might be a little clearer if I can at least know what's happening with my blood... and possibly why Murphy wants it.

But then, I still don't know much about this Agency or what their plans are. Who knows what they want from the results of these tests?

I guess I'll have to go with my instincts.

"I suppose it would be best," I reply and give a decisive nod. "I'll do them, I'm kind of interested to know what the results might be myself."

They all look relieved at my response.

"This is the first real chance to find out about this mutation," Rebecca says with a genuine smile. "You'll be helping us all so much. Now, come with me. I'll take you to the lab."

Sliding from the bed, I make to follow my mother, suddenly very aware of the gazes of Unit Bravo watching me as I go.


	11. Chapter Ten

**First Blood**

**Chapter Ten: Vampire 101**

**. . .**

**T**he next few days pass in a blur. I spend most of my time huddled way in a medical lab, surrounded by white-coated technicians who poke and prod at me as though I'm some complicated puzzle that needs solving.

Rebecca has booked a whole week of tests. Even though I agreed to them, it's starting to irk me a little. I haven't seen outside world for so long, and being relatively idle is making my brain go a bit stir-crazy.

This morning, on my way to the cafeteria, I can't help but let my mind run to Unit Bravo. They've kept their distance – as has most everyone in the facility – and I don't know if it's because they're unsure how to deal with me now, or if they have no interest because they don't need to guard me like before.

The team of them have bunked down here in guest rooms too, and my gaze flickers over their doors as I turn the corner of the corridor. As I make to pass by their rooms, as I have every morning for the past few days, I find my steps faltering to a stop outside of Ava's door. Unlike the ominous steel doors in the rest of the facility, the guest room doors are wood, though they're still slathered in that same green paint.

I peer at the grain of the wood showing through the paint as though staring at it closer might give me some clue as to why I've stopped here. Do I really want to talk to Ava right now? The team leader is brooding and imposing in normal situations... I'm not sure how she's dealing with all this.

I can't seem to explain it... It's like I can't help but want to see her.

My face contorts at the fuddle of thoughts that clash in my head. _Okay, so there's been some...moments. But that doesn't necessarily mean anything. That's just...people...being close..._

The more I try to clear my head, the more my teeth grind together.

Shaking away the intrusive thoughts, I turn back to the door.

Raising my hand, I bring it forward to thump it against the wood – only to almost topple forwards as the door swings open. Thankfully, I manage to keep my balance, snapping my hands back to my side and staring over Ava in the doorway.

She stares back, a brow quirking up. "Something you need, Detective?"

"I was just checking in," I reply after regaining my composure. "To clear the air with everything that's happened."

She folds her arms, flicking her wavy hair over her shoulder. It's the first time I've seen it down and not stretched into a tight knot at the back of her head. My attention flashes back to her eyes as she begins talking.

"That is unnecessary," she replies in a curt tone. "I thought you were busy with the tests?"

The reminder makes my shoulders drop a little. "I am."

She nods. "Then at least you can now be useful."

The statement makes my eyes widen, a deep frown eventually settling on my face.

"Is this a thing you do all the time?" I ask, arching a brow and letting out a breath. "Insult everyone as much as possible?"

Ava's eyes narrow a fraction, though I notice her shoulders shift as though my words put weight on them. "I do not insult. I speak honestly. Something I'm at liberty to do with you now that everything is out in the open."

She meets my eye. "Working with a human will only slow us down."

It's like she just can't stop being an ass!

I lean back, hands on my hips. "I'm not exactly thrilled to be working with you either. Being teamed with a bunch of-"

"Monsters?" The word growls from between her lips, and she takes a wide step forward towards me. There is a definite threat in her voice and yet... it's hard to ignore the pain that streaks across her face she says it.

My gaze snaps to meet her, the woman having gotten even closer when she threw the accusation at me.

The word hangs in the air – heavy and intrusive. My frown softens, my gaze catching her. My heart skips in my chest, as though wanting to beat out of my body and closer towards her.

"I don' think you're monster, Ava," I reply finally, my tone just as serious as her had been.

The hostility in her stance drops, though she seems hesitant. A frown fights for position on her expression, but it succumbs to regret instead. "Maybe you should."

"Why?" The word is breathy as it leaves me, an emotional weight seeming to grip at my chest from nowhere.

The slightest smile curves her lips. "Because it would be safer for you." The frown finally sets deep on her face. "For me."

Shakes her head, straightening herself. "I mean for all of us. We won't harm you, but we're still dangerous."

The tension of the previous moment, which Ava had obviously been keen to dispel, doesn't seem to budge. I shift under the weight of it.

"Right," It's all I can say as a reply. With silence the only thing to greet me, I make to turn away.

I only take one step before her hand reaches out to my arm. "Detective..."

I spin around and meet her eyes, my gaze dropping to her lips as they seem to form around words she can't quite speak.

"Ah, there you are!"

Ava's hand snaps away from me so quickly she almost stumbles a step back.

The doctor who has been treating my injury waddles forward, jostling a bunch of papers in his hands. "I've been looking for you, Detective. Time for your check-up!" He says it so cheerily he makes it sound like going on a ride at a theme park.

When I glance over my shoulder, Ava is already retreating back into her room. My focus flutters down to where she'd touched my arm; a tingle is still erupting on my skin where the contact had been.

"Detective?" the doctor repeats. Pursing his thin lips.

"Sure." I give a nod, following the rotund little man down the hallway... though I can't help but cast a final glance back down the hall.

**. . .**

**W**hether it's afternoon or evening, I can't tell. The apocalypse could have happened, and I don't think I would've felt the slightest shudder down her.

As I stride down the hallway, more confident in my way after a few days, I pass by one of the man agent who work here. They give a smile of greeting as they pass before glancing down at a small pad in their hands. Clawed hands. Talons curl out of their fingertips, clasping at the edges of the paper, and I'm surprised they can hold it without shredding it.

It's certainly not the weirdest thing I've seen while I've been down here.

The initial shock and surprise had worn off some time ago, but it's still not something that can just pass me by without notice. This world... it's a lot of take in.

I'd been pretty accepting of it all from the start. Sure, hearing that supernatural creatures are secretly working to protect humans and others isn't something you ever expected to hear. It had been pretty cool to find out though!

But now, after having a while to let it sink in and become truly real. All I know is that I want to get back to working on the case. Now I know all the facts, I might actually get somewhere with it. I might be able to stop the killer prowling about my town!

Shaking the thought away, I reach to push open the door to the common room. Once again, the intense, rich, scents of frankincense is the first thing to greet me. The aroma is so strange after thel lack of natural scents in the rest of the facility.

Unit Bravo and my mother are already waiting inside, the team strewn about the room in the usual way while Rebecca stands to one side. A sudden silence descends over them all as I enter; a gold-trimmed clock clunking the time on the far wall is the only thing to make noise.

"You wanted to see me?" I say, stepping further inside. The warmth and cosiness in the common room is such a bizarre shift from the rest of the facility. It's hard to to feel like I'm shutting out another world as I close the door.

Rebecca smiles. "We've received some of the results of your tests from the science team."

My eyes widen. "That was fast."

"The Agency is nothing but efficient," Nat says, her tone light.

I lean against a corner table, the antique-looking table lamp wobbling slightly as I do. "What did they reveal?"

"Straight to the point," Farah says, glancing over at me from her armchair and smiling "You'll fit in well with the rest of the team."

Rebecca holds a file in her hand but doesn't need to look at it as she begins to speak. "As we suspected, the mutation in your blood means that a vampire's pheromones will have no use against you."

I give a nod.

"It's a good thing to have confirmed. But it's what else they discovered that has us all reeling."

The team lean a little closer, attentions caught.

Rebecca smiles. "It seems your blood doesn't just stop the pheromone abilities of vampires, but that type of power from all supernatural creatures."

I frown. "What does that mean?"

"Many supernaturals have mind-altering or pheromone-type abilities of some kind," Nat explains , still obviously surprised at this information. "Sirens with their voices, for example."

"And you are immune to them all, it would seem," Rebecca says, no small amount of happiness in that statement.

"And what about our physical abilities?" Morgan asks from one corner. "Does his weirdness hinder those?"

Rebecca thins her lips, placing the folder down. "Unfortunately, we believe the mutation does nothing to alter those." 

I notice as a small frown of relief settle over Morgan's features, but it's quickly veiled behind a fog of cigarette smoke.

"Physical abilities?" I ask, the information finally settling in my already full mind.

"Speed. Agility. Strength," Ava explains. "Most supernaturals are stronger than humans. Also our sensory abilities: hearing, sight, et cetera."

"But the fact there may be more to discover about this mutation is astounding," Rebecca says, true excitement in her voice and lighting her expression.

"So, hows does it work?" Farah asks, shifting in the seat to face Rebecca further.

"That's something we're not sure on," she replies. "It does seem to be some natural evolution or mutation."

"It makes sense," Nat adds, fingers on her chin in thought. "Supernaturals have been in this world for a long time now, so it's understandable humans would begin evolving defences against them. Even if they don't know it."

There is a collective nod from everyone in the room.

"Except there only seems to be one left in the evolutionary tree," Farah says, making everyone swing their heads around in my direction.

"I'm still confused. Why would Morgan want me if these pheromone things don't work?" I ask.

"Good question," Ava says, and I almost topple over at her agreement.

"We have a couple of theories on that..." Rebecca adds, though she hesitates to say anything more. "Some I'm not so keen to think about."

"Has it got something to do with the way he smells different?" Morgan asks, voice husky as she continues to puff her cigarette.

Rebecca stiffens. "I believe so."

"Smells different?" I'm not sure whether or not to be offended by her statement.

"Farah smiles, returning her attention to me. "Yeah, it's something we all noticed on meeting you. You smell..."

"Overwhelming," Ava suddenly stammers, gaining everyone's stunned attention. She stiffens, as though it was supposed to be a silent thought. "More enticing than most humans. Just your blood, I mean."

"Uh huh..." Farah says, grinning at the team leader, who sneers and quickly looks away from the younger agent.

"Yes, well..." Rebecca says, interrupting the heavy quiet about to fall over us."

Ava steps closers to Rebecca. "And what is going to happen in the meantime?"

She glances up at her, no longer with the softer expression of my mother but the harder one of a leader. "With the doctor's approval, Ryan will return to working on the case, and Unit Bravo are offically assigned to his protection until this is over. You will continue to work together to catch Murphy, but Ryan cannot go near him."

"This should certainly make things..." I pause, pursing my lips to think of the right word. "Interesting."

Farah chuckles. "Way more fun than our usual missions."

I arch a brow at the reply.

"Where do we start?" Farah asks. "Murphy's got to know we're onto him now."

"Agree," Rebecca says. "I've had agents watching the hospital where he was working, and he hasn't returned. It seems he must have left in a hurry."

"Maybe he left something behind if he was in a rush," I say, thoughts of the case beginning to once again take precedence in my mind. It's nice to have something to focus on.

She nods. "My thinking too. It's at least somewhere to start."

After gathering up the folder, she begins to make her way towards the door. "Murphy is still a threat, one we can't fully gauge the strength of. Be careful." Her gaze lands on me as she says that.

The past few days have also been mostly absent of her presence except for a few visits. My guess is that she wanted to give me space to deal with all of it, as the vampires had.

It also might have had something to do with my reaction to her after all of this. It was pretty calm, considering everything she's told me.

I flick my gaze away, purposely not meeting her eyes. I'm not sure it will ever possible to forgive her.

I hear her sigh before soft footsteps sound over the carpet then the door opens and clicks shut without another word.

When I glance back to the room, a heaviness on my shoulders that wasn't there before, I notice Unit Bravo staring over at me.

"What?" I ask, frowning at their expressions.

Farah holds up hands. "Just got a whole lot colder in here, is all."

"Enough, Farah," Ava chides, though there is no real strength behind the words. When the team leader throws me a glance, there is only sympathy in the gaze. The expression is gone before I can think on it further.

It's the first time I've been alone with the whole team for a while now. "the atmosphere is much tenser than it had been before I was told everything...

"Thank god we'll be out of this place soon," Farah says, following with a relief-filled breath. "Back to the real world. It feels like we've been trapped down here!"

My mind continues to play out the conversation that just happened, and I look towards them with a confused frown. "So, these physical abilities you guys have..." I balance myself on the arm of nearby chair. "What sort of things can vampires actually do? Is it really like the stories?"

Morgan scoffs, almost choking on her puff of smoke. "I wouldn't confuse us for the creatures in those books."

Nat ignores her, coming to stand a little closer. "Some are the same: strength, speed, agility. That kind of thing."

The obvious question whirls inside my head until I can't contain it. I rub a hand over my arm. "I guess the most important question I should be asking is if you do all actually drink blood?"

The room falls into a horrible quiet, one only broken by my breath which is suddenly a lot sharper than it had been.

"Yes." The simple reply comes from Ava, her voice steady and unwavering, matching the stern stare she has focused on me.

"But not usually directly from humans or anything," Farah interrupts. "The Agency provides blood bags. More for some of us than others. Right, Nat?"

I glance over at Nat, who takes a deep breath. She is obviously trying to remain unaffected by the strange comment.

"It's not just vampires," Morgan remarks, breaking the odd air. She cocks her head to one side. "Lots of supernaturals indulge in blood."

"Let's, uh, leave it there for now, shall we?" Nat suggests with a light tone, though her words seem tense.

I nod.

"How about sunlight?" I ask. "I've seen you all outside in the daytime."

"It's a bit more complicated than that," Nat replies.

Ava sighs. "We are affected by sunlight, yes, but we don't burst into flames. Our abilities are weakened quite considerably."

"Well," Farah adds, not looking up from where she's twirling her fingers around each other. "Morgan's not as weakened as the rest of us, but that's only because she's damn strong to begin with."

My gaze flashes to Morgan, who doesn't even flinch at being mentioned. "So you are weak during the day?"

"Not weak," Ava barks in defence. "Still strong enough deal with threat that presents itself."

I give a slow nod. A frown settles on my brow. "Strength isn't everything, you know."

Ava smirks, folding her arms. "Then it's lucky we have a lot of other abilities too."

"An ego of unlimited size being one of them?" I say in retort.

"Oh, nice one, Detective!" Farah says with a chortle.

Ava stares over me for a longer moment before a half-sneer curls her lips, and she swings away to face the other wall.

"What about garlic?"

"What about it?" Ava asks, and I can't tell if she's joking or being serious.

Nat chuckles. "I quite enjoy it, actually."

"You mean it's not like poison to you guys?" I ask.

She shakes her head. "No. Though that's not to say there aren't substances that could incapacitates us-"

"Which you have no need to know of," Ava interrupts, Nat tensing at the interruption.

I shrug. "At least you can still enjoy a nice Bolognese."

Nat gives a laugh along with Farah, but Morgan only grimaces at the idea. Ava – I manage to notice – can't help but give a small smile before wiping if from her face.

"What happens when it comes to religious stuff?" I ask, wondering how to phrase the question. "Holy water? Crosses? That kind of thing."

"It's all very interesting," Farah replies. "But that's about as much notice as we take."

"None of that stuff works?"

"No," Nat says and I notice an amused smile tug at the corners of her lips.

Ava throws a narrow stare in my direction. "Disappointed?"

"No, just curious," I say, and she quickly shifts her focus away.

"Are any of you religious?" It seems an odd question to ask a bunch of vampires, but I can't help myself.

Morgan scoffs at the question. Very loudly. Which I take as a 'no.'

I nod, an odd quiet descending over us.

I glance over the group, wondering how my next question will make them react. "Is a stake to the heart the only way to kill vampires?"

Nat's eyes widen before she throws an amused grin over at Ava, who doesn't look nearly as amused by it.

Farah splutters, chuckling. "Planning to get rid of us already, Detective?"

"I thought I should be prepared for Murphy or other vampires."

"That's fair," Nat says. "A stake to the heart would be effective, as would decapitation."

The turn in the conversation makes me shift uncomfortably. "But you can heal from wounds, right?" The memory of seeing it before my own eyes catches me unaware, and I shake it away.

"Yes," she says. "From pretty much all injuries."

"Right..." I reply, unsure what else to say as an uncertainty seems to tingle in the air throughout the room.

"You guys all have boosted sense though, right?" I ask.

Nat nods, obviously expecting questions. "Yes. We have hyper sense."

"What does that mean exactly?"

"It just means we can pick up on things that humans can't," Nat replies. "We have sharper hearing, better eyesight, sensitive touch-"

Farah chuckles at that. "Oh yea..."

Ava rolls her eyes at the younger agent before saying, "It does make us more susceptible to heat and cold, as well as pain, which can work against us."

"It also makes it easier to sense when other are around, especially humans," Nat adds. "You are all quite easy to pick up on. As well as how you're feeling."

I try not to tense at that. "You can tell how a person is feeling?"

"Yeah," Farah says nonchalantly. "Body language, heart rate, pupil dilation, pheromones... that kind of thing."

"I suppose I'll have to watch myself from now on then," I reply, trying to keep my tone light.

"Don't worry," Nat replies. "We do our best to keep it under control, so we're not invading people's personal feelings and privacy..."

"But it's part of what we are," Ava says, tone stern with defensiveness. "We can't just turn it off."

I arch a brow at the strong remark, but decide not to reply and rile her further. "What exactly is it that these 'pheromones' you have do?"

Nat shrugs. "They can help us control humans and some other supernaturals. Except you, of course."

"Oh," I say, my voice tense, "is that all?"

Morgan draws in a long breath of her cigarette. "It puts those we use them on at ease and makes them very suggestible. Suppose it's a predator thing – easier for us to get a bite." She adds a dark smile to the words.

Nat throws her a warning glare and then looks back to me with a smile. "We have little use of them. The Agency provides us with what we need. They only time we really use them are on missions, and even then we try not to."

Morgan and Farah both at that.

I give a slow nod, unsure how to feel about the idea.

"Do you have reflections?" I ask. "In mirrors? Or photos?"

"Oh, Detective, I couldn't live without seeing my reflection at least once an hour," Farah replies, eyes bright with humour.

I hold back a chuckle. "I see."

"You'll quickly learn many of the old legends really are just legends," Nat adds.

"So..." I begin, "no coffins either then, I'm guessing?"

Ava almost chokes in surprise, Farah's laughter growing at the team leader's reaction.

"We tend to prefer a bed over coffins, yes," Nat replies, taking it in better humour than her friend.

Rolling my lips together, I try to contain my chuckle before I've even asked the question. "I don't get it though."

"What?" Nat asks, frowning.

"Why don't any of you sparkle?" This time the chuckle edges out with the words.

My amusement is joined by Farah who laugh loudly from her place.

The only other reaction I receive is from Morgan, who glowers at me with such hostility I'm surprised it's not burning through me.

"Oh, come on," I say in defence, raising my hands. "You can't expect me not to mention it!"

Nat half-smiles, lips pursing. "Feel better for asking?"

"Totally." I smile in return.

"Okay," I say, pushing myself up from the chair. "I better go get ready to leave."

"A lot of stuff to pack, have you?" Farah says with a joking smile.

I shake my head, trying to suppress a smile myself. "I guess I'll be seeing you guys around."

"See you soon, Detective," Nat calls as I turn to leave.

Maybe things will be different this time. Now that I know everything, hopefully the team will be more willing to let me in as we continue working on the case.

I can't help but hope, anyway...


End file.
